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Chapter Text

It all started at the Quidditch World Cup. Harry Potter was in the best of spirits, eagerly waiting for the match to start. He, Hermione, and the Weasleys were seated in the Top Box, teeming with excitement.

“Ah!” A voice called. “Pleasure to see you, Lucius.” Harry turned, seeing his nemesis, Draco Malfoy, along with his mother and father. Draco Malfoy was dressed in formal robes matching his father, bold, gold and green. His mother was poised next to him, her bony hand resting on Malfoy’s shoulder. She had white robes with bright Irish green accents, and an expression that implied she had just smelled something rather foul. Lucius Malfoy’s eyes swept the box, landing with a wrinkled nose on Hermione.

When the match began, the mascots of Ireland and Bulgaria emerged onto the field. As you know, the vella went first. As Harry watched the vella, he was struck by a similarity. Something about their bright pale skin, or their sparkling hair…Harry could swear he had seen it before. But surely he would have remembered someone so beautiful. Eventually the vella left, the Leprechauns reigned over the field briefly, and the match began. While Harry loved Quidditch, he was irreversibly aware of Malfoy, seating just two rows behind him. What was he thinking? Was he cheering along with everyone else? (Harry couldn’t tell.) Or was he just observing, in that silent way he tended to, until the time was right for a barbed comment? But, Harry didn’t care, of course. Why would he?

***

“You see that fille au sang sale?” His father said, gesturing to Hermione Granger with his chin. “They’ll let anyone in here now, I suppose.” His mother nodded in response, smoothing out her robes. “Embarrassing, really,” She drawled.

Draco was french. His mother grew up in Antibes, France. His father’s family was also from France, and the two of them made sure that their son spoke the language flawlessly. It was very useful for having private conversations around the general public. “Draco, chéri?” His mother leaned over, whispering. “N’oubliez pas de vous asseoir bien droit. Il y a des personnes importantes ici.” Draco straightened his spine, feeling a twinge of impatience. This was the Quidditch World Cup! No one should come here to obsess with the state of their looks!

Except the Malfoys, of course. Every second they spent was calculated, productive, ensuring their safety. Everyone who looked at them saw three perfect specimens, a flawless family brimming with might, magic, and money. If they were ever caught in something unseemly, it vanished inside the walls of their manor. It’s how his father had expanded their fortune beyond anything their ancestors had. His mother reached over, fixing a bit of Draco’s hair the same way she always did. With steely and quick movements, as if wanting to cover up Draco’s embarrassing failure to control every strand of hair. Finally, after tolerating the vella and laughing at the leprechauns, the match began.

Draco clasped his hands excitedly, his mother grinning at him. It was like a ballet in the air, poised and perfect and fast as lightning. Draco clutched his Irish flag in his hands, unable to tear his eyes away. When Ireland first scored, Draco leaped into the air with the rest of the fans, pumping his fists. He flopped back between his parents, beaming. He noticed his robes had fallen out of their careful manner. Immediately his father reached over, fixing them. “Ne recommencez pas,” His father hissed, yanking Draco’s robes back into proper formation. Draco flinched at his rough touch. “You’ll embarrass us with displays like that.” Draco nodded, but mind was gradually fading away from his father, and back to the Quidditch Cup.

Draco had always seen quidditch as a dance. If himself and the Slytherin team were school children skipping to a beat, then the Irish and Bulgarians were dancing a flawless waltz. If he focused, he could hear the music in his head. Graceful, soaring, and fast as light all at once. While watching, he was reminded of the only flawless dance he had seen outside professional quidditch. It had been two years ago, when Harry Potter had swept forward like a shooting star. His arm was broken into pieces, but he still managed to close his fingers over the snitch, inches from Draco’s head. I wanna fly like that.

***

That night, dark followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named abducted a family of muggles, using magic to lift them into the air.

Draco Malfoy awoke to screaming, and saw that he was alone in his tent. He sat in the back of their tent, unsure what to do. The screaming continued. Draco could see fire and sparks flying outside. He wrapped his arms around himself, realising he was trembling. He heard scratching and snapping, when a figure crashed through the tent flaps, their wand drawn. Draco yelped in fright, backing up into the corner.

“Draco!” The figure yelled. “They’ve lost control! Get out of here, now!” He couldn’t tell who was speaking, but he didn’t stay around to find out. Fumbling in the dark, he reached for one of the vials he always had stored in his bedside table. His father would kill him if he was caught in the open without it. Clutching it in his hand, Draco ran out the back of the tent, sprinting for the woods.

Tearing through the trees, Draco huffed, pushing himself to move faster. But apparently too fast. “Augh!” Draco crashed to the ground, his feet caught around a tree root. He crawled forward, checking himself over. No broken bones, cuts…that’s good. I should take my potion now. But it wasn’t in his hand. He had dropped it when he fell. Panic gripped Draco’s lungs, he started ruffling around the foliage, feeling for the vial. The moon was shining, but Draco couldn’t see his vial anywhere, he had fallen into a deep shadow. To his right, he saw a small pond. Serene, filled with weeds and probably little fish. Draco blinked at it. Please tell me my vial didn’t fall in there. Not the pond. It couldn’t have! Wouldn’t he have heard the splash? Draco bent over the pond, squinting, when he heard someone coming through the trees. Draco froze.

Please don’t be my father. He’ll lose it. Whoever it is, please don’t see me.

Chapter Text

On the other side of things, Harry, Hermione and the school-age Weasleys had taken off into the forest. Percy, Bill, Charlie and Mr. Weasley took off in an attempt to help the ministry rescue the muggles. In the chaos, in the dark, it’s easy to get lost.

Harry Potter and his friends became separated in the dark, leaving Harry to stumble alone. He was lost, when he felt a warm streak pulling through the air. It felt like he was being pulled along with it, taking him into a clearing with a small pond. He stopped, catching his breath. The night was quieter now, and Harry couldn’t see any sign of his friends, or the strange warmth. He was feeling for his wand in his pocket, (where had it gone?), when a drawling voice cut through the dark.

“Where are the rest of your little pals?” In the deepest trench of shadows, Harry spotted the outline of a boy’s figure. It was Draco Malfoy, sitting by the edge of the pond with forced tranquillity.

“We got separated in the dark.” Harry wrinkled his nose. “What are you doing out here?”

“Gosh, I don’t know. Not like there’s a riot happening right now or anything,” You could hear him rolling his eyes. Harry bristled. “Where are your parents? Out there in masks?”

“If they were, I wouldn’t tell you- now would I?” Malfoy snapped back. Harry started back the way he came, still missing his wand and getting ready to retrace his steps, when Malfoy spoke again.

“You should find Granger. You don’t want her spotted.” Harry stomped over to the pond’s side.

“Are you threatening Hermione!” Malfoy shifted back from him, still enshrouded in the tree's shadows.

“No! Don’t be daft, Potter! They’re going after muggles.”

“Hermione is a witch.”

“They won’t care! You think they can’t spot a mudblood?” Malfoy stood up, his voice rising.

“Watch your mouth!” Harry glared at Malfoy. He expected another insult, but was evidently disappointed.

“You should find her, is all. And Weasley.” Harry felt a twist of suspicion in his gut.

“What are you on about? Why are you skulking in the dark?”

“I’m not skulking. You’re skulking!” Malfoy said accusingly.

“You’re the one who hasn’t moved from the shadows.” Harry returned, taking a few steps closer to Malfoy.

“Stop that!” He yelled, jumping back from the pond, still carefully hidden in the darkness. “You stay over there and I’ll stay over here!” Malfoy yelped, his arms spread out, signalling Harry should stay as far away as possible. Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“What is up with you? You’re acting mental.” “You’re the mental one! Just stay over there. Don’t look at me.”

Well, that seems innocent enough. Harry inched closer, curiosity bubbling. “Why would I look at you? Are you hiding something?”

“No-” Malfoy started, but Harry darted forward, grabbing Malfoy’s wrist and tugging him out of the tree’s enormous shadow. He fell forward easily, and Harry could see clearly what he had been hiding. Reflected brightly in the moonlight were Malfoy’s eyes.

But they weren’t the same grey eyes Harry remembered. They were two different colors. One a shining bright gold, the other a sparkling river-like blue.

“Whoa.” Harry’s eyes widened, examining Malfoy’s glittering eyes. He yanked himself back, twisting his hand out of Harry’s grip and darting back from the moonlight.

“Shove off, Potter!” He snarled. Harry’s jaw fell open in surprise.

“Your eyes…”

“Go ahead. Make fun. I know you want to.” Draco was standing stiff as a rod, his fists clenched at his sides.

Harry blinked in confusion. “What would I make fun of? You have eyes with multiple colours?”

Malfoy scowled, staring into the trees. Harry squinted at him, hoping for a closer look. “It’s called heterochromia,” Malfoy rubbed his neck, his voice quiet. “Not that you care, but every morning I take a potion to keep it at bay. It wears off after twelve-odd hours. I always keep a vial in my pocket, but now…I can’t find it.” He scowled at the ground.

Harry tried to put the pieces together in his head. Malfoy was clearly embarrassed, but why? Having gemstone eyes seemed like something he would brag about endlessly. If Harry had eyes like that he would…well, he would…he had no idea. But he didn’t think he would go to all the trouble of hiding it?

“Please don’t tell,” Malfoy whispered, the softest Harry had ever heard him speak. “I’ll do anything,” Malfoy croaked. “Just name your price.”

“What? No, I- ” Harry stammered. “Of course I won’t tell.” He could tell that he was passing up a golden opportunity to get back at Malfoy for everything he had ever done. but something in Malfoy’s face told him this was one secret not to spill. “I still don’t understand it, though. Who would make fun of your eyes?” Harry asked, scanning the ground. “That’s overlooking all the perfectly rational reasons people should make fun of you.” He crouched down alongside Malfoy, rummaging through the foliage. This is stupid. I need to find the others… “- You’re an arse, for example. I would make fun of that.” Malfoy whirled around, crushing a leaf in his palm.

“Oh, shut it! I don’t need you pointing out any more flaws of mine.”

“What flaws?” Harry burst out in disbelief. He started counting on his fingers, the two of them still rummaging around on the ground. “Your hair is always perfect. Even now! During a riot! What-do you comb your hair in your sleep?” Malfoy’s cheeks flushed, his gaze hardening. Harry continued. “-You’re rich enough to breeze through life, but you practise Quidditch more than anyone else on your team. You always get perfect grades in everything- without even seeming to try! To top it all off, you apparently have magical eyes. What flaws?”

Malfoy blinked. “Why do you know my grades?” Both of them fell silent, sitting still for a long second. After a healthy beat of awkwardness, Malfoy looked away.

“Come off it, don’t tease. Now you of all people know, and soon everyone else will know again, too.” Harry blinked.

“Again?” As far as he knew, Malfoy had bore gray eyes since the first day they met.

Chapter Text

“Forget it, Potter,” Malfoy muttered. “Just leave me alone. I need to find that vial.” He kept searching the ground.

Harry spotted a glint of something, apparently rolled away into some ferns. He drew it out, revealing a small glass vial- no more than four inches, filled to the brim with a swishing liquid the same shade of grey he remembered Malfoy’s eyes being.

“Is this it?” Malfoy’s face brightened immediately. He reached out demandingly. “Yes! Give it here.”

“Gee, so polite,” Harry grumbled, but he handed him the vial all the same.

Malfoy snatched it fast, uncorking it and swallowing the single sip. Malfoy’s muscles relaxed, tension falling from his bones. As Harry watched, the colours seemed to leak out of Malfoy’s eyes. The grey that he remembered spread over them, swallowing every last piece of bright sun and sweet blue. Malfoy let out a relieved sigh, tucking the vial back into his pocket. Harry saw that it seemed to have refilled itself with the grey tonic. That way he always has a supply.

“You happy?” Harry asked, squinting at him. “Because as fun as this was, I need to find the others.”

Malfoy opened his mouth, his expression tight and wary. But before he could speak a shout sounded off through the trees.

“MORSMORDRE!” As if erupting from the ground, a ghastly and shining skull flew into the air, a snake protruding from its snarling mouth.

The Dark Mark. You, reader, know it well.

“It’s the Dark Mark!” Malfoy gasped.

“What?” Harry looked up in bewilderment. “What’s the Dark Ma-?”

But Malfoy shoved him from behind, “We need to get you out of here!” he hissed, trying his best to push Harry through the woods. Harry stared at him. All he had to do was dig in his heels, and Malfoy couldn’t seem to move him an inch.

“What are you-?” Harry protested, when loud voices rang out near them.

“I see them- through these trees!”

“Stunning spells at the ready!”

“Look out!” Malfoy grabbed Harry’s arm, tugging him to the ground. He flopped on top of Malfoy with an “Oof!”

“Stupefy!” A dozen voices yelled, Harry saw the red light fly over their heads.

“Stop, wait! That’s Harry Potter! That’s Harry Potter!” Arthur Weasley broke through the group, hurrying over to the two of them. Harry realised he was essentially using Malfoy as a cushion, and the two of them scrambled away in disgust.

Mr. Weasley ran over, pulling Harry to his feet.

“Which one of you conjured the mark?” A voice demanded. Harry looked over to see Amos Diggory, his eyes flaring in rage. Mr. Diggory looked past Harry, his eyes landing on Malfoy.

“You!” He roared, “Lucius’s boy! You must have conjured the mark!”

“I didn’t-” Malfoy started, before Mr. Diggory grabbed his arm, wrenching him up to a standing position. “You’re coming with me!”

“I most certainly am not!” Malfoy snapped, trying to wriggle away from Mr. Diggory, the rest of the ministry wizards watching uncomfortably. “Let go of me!” Though his words were angry and self-righteous, Harry looked at Malfoy’s face. He saw a sick kind of acceptance shining in his eyes, like he resigned himself to the blame.

“It wasn’t him!” Harry stepped away from Mr. Weasley. “I saw it! They were over there. Malfoy couldn’t have conjured that thing, I would have seen it!”

Mr. Diggory glanced at Harry, finally seeming to understand the fact he was essentially manhandling a child. He released Malfoy’s arm, and Malfoy drew back, scowling. “My father will hear about your inane accusations!” He snapped.

“What were the two of you doing out here?” Mr. Weasley asked. Malfoy stiffened, alarm ringing in his eyes. He looked over at Harry, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. Anticipating the worst.

“Nothing,” Harry said dismissively. “We just ran into one another after I lost the others.” Malfoy gaped at Harry, seemingly unable to look away. Ludo Bagman appeared from the pack of ministry wizards, starting into the forest. He emerged a moment later, carrying something small, (too small to be a person, surely), but it did look like- “Winky?” Harry gasped. She had been stunned, stiff as a board in Bagman’s hands.

“You know this elf?” Malfoy demanded, his gaze flipping between Harry and Winky. But as you know, he did.

The next sequence of events has already been shared. Harry’s wand is recovered, it having been in Winky’s hand. Harry’s wand had conjured the Dark Mark. Winky the house elf was dismissed. And Draco Malfoy stood there all the while, the knots in his stomach growing tighter.

“Well…” Mr. Weasley trailed off, watching the remainder of the ministry wizards spread out into the forest. “Let’s get on, then. We should be getting back.” Harry followed him, stealing a glance backwards, only to see Malfoy rooted in place, staring into the trees. And while Harry went back to the tents where he would recount everything to Hermione and the rest of the Wealseys, Draco Malfoy walked back to the pool.

His eyes safe, dull, and grey. He sat beside the pool, tracing patterns into the water. He stayed even when he started to shiver from the cold, even when the mark faded from the sky, he sat. Refusing to return to his tent. Not until he knew everyone had sufficient time to hide whatever dirty deeds they had committed that night. He couldn’t face what he knew he might find, things that he had found before. At the pool, he was comforted by the fact that he could be wrong.

Chapter Text

After returning back to The Burrow, and soothing a frantic Mrs. Weasley, (“What if you had died at the last thing I said to you was that you didn’t get enough O.W.L.s?”) Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to the garden.

Hermione flopped down onto the ground, and Crookshanks immediately came waddling over, looking for attention.

“Hello, Crookshanks,” Hermione cooed. “Did you catch any gnomes?”

“I hope so,” Ron grumbled. “Maybe those stupid things will leave if he starts eating them. Too bad they keep outsmarting him.”

“They’re not outsmarting him!” Hermione snipped. “He just has smaller legs.”

“Smaller than a gnome?” Ron whispered sceptically.

Harry decided to cut in before things got worse. (For the record, Harry wasn’t sure that Crookshanks wanted to eat the gnomes at all, they looked like they would taste foul.)

“Hey, do you all know what heterochromia is?” Harry asked, fiddling with one of the little flowers that tended to crop up all over the Weasley’s garden. It was the first thing he could think of to deter their attention. Hermione looked over, scratching Crookshank’s ears.

“It’s when a wizard has different coloured eyes.”

“A wizard? Doesn’t it ever happen to muggles?” Harry could have sworn he had seen someone with multi-colored eyes before, outside of Hogwarts.

“No way.” Ron scoffed. “Different coloured eyes are a sign of unexpected magic. My dad told me about it before, usually it shows up in muggle-borns.” Harry felt something squeezing his chest.

“Wait, so, are they dangerous?”

“No, not really.” Hermione shook her head, and Harry gave a small sigh in relief. “Magical powers and tendencies are often inherited from bloodlines. Heterochromia really only indicates that someone might have powers that their family doesn’t.”

“Why d’you ask?” Ron looked at Harry.

He shrugged. “Just something I read.” He waved his hand dismissively, hoping his friends would let it go.

While Hermione turned their conversation to their upcoming trip to Diagon Alley for school supplies, (“I worry that the standard book of spells has been degrading in quality. I used to be able to fit 3 inches of notes in the margins- but last year I could only get in 2.2!”) Harry thought's found their way back to Malfoy.

What could possibly be so bad about Malfoy’s eyes? Even if he did have some sort of ability the rest of his family didn’t, would it really matter?

I guess it depends on what his ‘power’ is. If he even has an unusual one. It was odd, to say the least. Malfoy had looked desperate last night, unlike anything Harry had seen from him before. Harry was tempted to tell Ron and Hermione, maybe they had some ideas. But whenever he opened his mouth, something caught in his throat. He still couldn’t believe anyone would want to hide something as beautiful as that.

Malfoy’s eyes had looked like diamonds, sparkling in the moonlight. Sweet deep orange and soft blue shimmering under long eyelashes. Harry had been so close to those eyes. Inches, really, away from Malfoy’s face. His skin had shone luminously, like he was made of flower petals. Harry wondered if his skin felt as soft as it looked . . .

“Harry!” Harry’s head snapped up, Ron had apparently been calling him for a good minute. “I was trying to ask you- what time works to leave tomorrow? My mum wants to know so we can get to Diagon Alley.”

“Oh! Um. Any time,” Harry smiled. With some difficulty, he turned his attention back to his friends.

***

Over the last few weeks of the summer holiday, Harry played with the Weasley’s, went shopping in Diagon Alley, and managed to essentially forget about Draco Malfoy. On September first, they packed into the Hogwarts express. As you know, the Weasley’s dropped significant hints about the upcoming Triwizard Tournament, something that would prove extremely relevant in the coming months. But among the thousand of other students who boarded the train that same day, one was consumed by wondering if he could truly trust The Boy Who Lived.

***

Draco Malfoy had settled nicely into a compartment with Greg Goyle and Vince Crabbe. He told them how his father had wanted him to go to Durmstrang, to learn more about the dark arts. He decided to leave out the bit where he had started an argument for pointing out that with the Triwizard Tournament happening, he would be far better off at Hogwarts.

Vince and Greg made it almost three whole minutes before they lost interest. But that was okay. Draco would tune himself out too, wouldn’t he? He earned some smiles from his friends by offering to go pick up some cauldron cakes. He knew where the trolley witch waited, and she had never minded early customers.

He stepped out of the compartment into the hall. “-You imagine?” He heard a voice exclaim cheerfully. “It would have been so easy to shove Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident.” Draco recognized Ron Weasley’s voice.

Interesting point, Draco thought, his cheeks burning. And who would have blamed them? It would be just stamping out another dark wizard.

Draco felt a sting of pain, and a drop of blood dripped onto his chin. Blast it all. He had been biting his lips again. He winced at the discomfort, hastily reapplying his lip balm. (Mister Mayar’s Lip Cure, for everything from stitches to itches!) He felt the cuts smooth over, and the twinge of pain dissipated.

He stayed rooted in place, no longer wanting to go get sweets. He looked down the train, wishing he could vanish into the wind. He didn’t particularly want to go back to Vince and Greg, but he couldn’t stay here.

He huffed, shoving his lip balm into the pocket with his vial before setting down the train at a snail's pace, deciding to get the cakes after all. He knew Harry Potter and his friends hated him. Who could blame them? But still, he didn’t need to listen to the details.

Just because Potter kept your secret doesn’t mean he stopped despising you completely. But Draco still wondered. If there was a world where Harry Potter didn’t hate him at all.

Not likely.

Chapter Text

The rain crackled, drops pouring down from the sky. The storm seemed bent on removing the memory of ever being dry.

They were one of the last carriages to arrive, Harry could see the line of first years emerging from the lake, being led by Hagrid. They hurried towards the entrance hall best they could.

Harry heard a loud “Ow!” ahead of him. He looked to the side, to see Crabbe, who had apparently slipped and crashed into Goyle, who had knocked down Malfoy, who was now sprawling into the mud.

“Get off me, you morons!” Malfoy yelled, trying, (and failing) to shove the two of them back to a standing position. Ron started cackling, so lost in laughter that he almost slid into the muck himself.

“Sorry, Malfoy,” Goyle grunted, hauling him to his feet with such force that he almost knocked him back down. Harry was reminded of the game muggles played with the heavy balls and the pins. (Bowling, that's it.)

“Hello! Hello!” a voice chirped. The first years had caught up, and a small boy with sopping wet golden hair was practically bouncing with excitement. This was impressive, giving that he seemed to be enveloped in a gigantic bear carcass.

“Yer keep that coat on, ya hear?” Hagrid rumbled. He nodded at the little boy, making a rather frazzled face at Harry.

"He fell in the lake on the way in.”

“It’s true!” The boy said delightedly. “The wind knocked me out of the boat, and then I was in the lake!”

Harry smiled confusedly. “You seem…kind of pleased about it.”

“It was so cool!” He affirmed, shining with joy. “I hope I get into Gryffindor so I can be like you!” Hermione smiled kindly at him, telling him how excited she was to have all the first years here at Hogwarts.

After a moment they managed to take shelter in the entrance hall, dodged Peeves and his water balloons, (during a downpour? What's the point?) and settled at the Gryffindor table of the Great Hall.

***

All of Gryffindor was enjoying the feast, and Harry struck up a conversation with Nearly Headless Nick, Gryffindor’s patron ghost. He told him about Peeves playing water fight in the entrance hall, to which Nearly Headless Nick merely nodded.

“Peeves has decided that his not being invited to the feast was horribly rude, he was wreaking havoc in the kitchen all evening.” He said, dusting off his cuffs.

“Wha did he doh?” Ron asked, his mouth filled with steak.

“Oh, the usual,” Nearly Headless Nick continued. “Tore around like a fury, terrifying the poor house elves, that sort of thing.”

This sent Hermione into near-hysterics. (“Why wouldn’t Dumbledore pay them? What is he thinking!”) But while Nearly Headless Nick and Ron argued with Hermione, Harry was struck by a memory.

That house elf he met over the summer, Winky. She had said that she knew Dobby.

I wonder where he is now.

He would soon find out, but not in a way anyone would have expected. Alas, that is a problem for later. For now, we leave Harry Potter at the start of the year feast.

***

It was the first day of classes, and a certain group of fourth years were walking down to Hagrid’s hut for Care of Magical Creatures. To their horror, Hagrid had obtained some new creatures for class, and had every intention to raise them as a class project. The Blast-Ended Skrewts.

They’ve been described as horribly ugly, like shell-less lobsters, but oddly coloured and pointy, covered in pincers and stingers. Personally, I usually think of them as giant walking amoebas, or albino scorpions with more claws. But whatever you imagine them to be, they are quite nasty, and the prospect of caring for them disgusted many.

“Here we are,” Hagrid grinned broadly, Hefting the lid off the last of the crates. “Today we’re just gonna be feedin’ em’. See what’s good to keep em’ healthy.”

“Why would anyone want them to be healthy?” Malfoy drawled. “What’s the point of them?”He asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Jus’ because they’re not pretty doesn’t mean they’re not valuable,” Hagrid grunted. Unfortunately, most of the class seemed to agree with Malfoy. No one had yet approached the crates.

“You never know, Malfoy,” Hermione pipped up, staring him down. “Dragon’s aren’t very good company either. If we stamped out all the dragons we would lose all the incredibly powerful resources we get from them. Like blood, heartstrings, even scales.”

“Yeah, shove it,” Ron snapped. The three of them started over to the crates. The rest of the class gradually followed suit, with varying amounts of disgust. The three of them peered into the nearest crate, to see the slimy, crawling skrewts.

“You really think these things can cure something or other?” Harry asked hesitantly, looking at her sideways.

“Oh, absolutely not. I just said that to shut up Malfoy,” Hermione huffed.

“...Good call.” Ron admitted, after a beat.

The next portion of class was sufficiently unpleasant. The skrewts loved biting, clawing, and tearing, just not where food was involved. Most of the class abandoned the task, choosing to ‘take notes,’ from a safe distance.

“Hey, get a load of Malfoy,” Ron snickered. Harry looked over, to see Draco Malfoy crouching over one of the crates, Crabbe and Goyle standing just behind him. He was apparently losing a battle to a skrewt, trying to shove carrot pieces into its mouth. Harry chuckled as the skrewt scampered up Malfoy’s arm and Goyle tried to smack it off.

“I’m getting a closer look,” Harry said, walking over.

“Euch! I think it bit me.” Malfoy snarled, dropping the skrewt back into the crate.

“Stop playing with it, then.” Crabbe grunted. “I’m not playing with it, Vince!” Malfoy snapped. “I’m trying to feed the blasted thing, but it keeps chomping me!”

“At least we know it’s hungry,” Harry grinned, hands in his pockets.

“Laugh it up, Potter,” Malfoy glared at him, his face sweaty and his hands littered with marks. As Harry watched, Malfoy placed one hand gingerly into the container, going for the same skrewt, dried lettuce clenched in his other fist.

“Why are you picking it up again? Are you thick?” Harry asked. He, Ron and Hermione had decided to just drop the food near the skrewts.

“The stupid thing is more likely to eat when it’s like this,” Malfoy retorted, lifting it back up and gingerly offering it the lettuce.

“Huh. Why do you care?” Harry asked, no longer so amused. Malfoy looked at him as if Harry had just asked if breathing was necessary.

“Granger said these things may have something to them. It’s worth the effort not to let it starve.”

“Are you serious?”

Malfoy nodded. “Granger is- OW! She’s usually right.” The skrewt chomped down on Malfoy’s hand again. Malfoy let it go with a yelp, and it fell back into the crate with a screech that sounded almost like laughter.

Chapter Text

The next few weeks pass as you know they did. Mad-Eye Moody (or who they believe to be Mad-Eye Moody) teaches his first lessons at the school. Activities begin, overshadowed slightly by the anticipation for the Triwizard Tournament. Two months later, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrive at Hogwarts. You have already seen the welcome feast through Harry’s eyes. Now it is time to wonder what his future love was thinking.

***

Draco Malfoy was suddenly overcome by gratitude for the fact that he had not attended Durmstrang. Even though being in close proximity to Viktor Krum (Viktor Krum!) was energising, watching the students rising out of the lake, glowering at everyone they saw, huge and hulking in fur coats, Draco whole-heartedly believed they would have squashed him like a bug.

Every few months or so Draco’s family hosted a certain type of dinner party for old ‘friends’ of his Father from the Department of the Control for Magical Creatures. These particular guests were always terrifying, glowering around and ripping food to bits without the bother of knives. They would hulk about and sit, staring around like they were contemplating theft. Once, Draco had seen one of them eat an entire pumpkin without once breaking eye contact. Draco did his best to avoid them.

The students from Durmstrang would have fit right in. But to everyone else’s delight, they decided to sit with the Slytherins.

Draco sat down in his usual space and was followed by the other Slytherin 4th years. The lot of them watched in surprise as the Durmstrang students settled down at their table without a piece of self-consciousness. Draco watched in rising excitement as Viktor Krum chose the seat directly next to him.

Greg promptly claimed the seat across from him, shoving a second year to the floor in his haste.

“Hello,” Krum grunted.

“Hello!” Vince chortled from Draco’s other side. “I’m a huge fan.”

The rest of Draco’s friends echoed in agreement. Krum merely nodded in acknowledgment, his frown still firmly in place.

Viktor Krum is sitting next to me. Viktor. Krum. Is next to me. Say something. SAY SOMETHING. QUICK! 

“Do you regret catching the snitch so early?” Draco blurted out, leaning forward. Following these eloquent words, Draco resisted the urge to immediately bury his face in his arms.

You idiot, he cursed himself, but still managing to sustain his charming smile.

A wave of uncomfortable silence fell over their side of the table. Krum looked over at Draco, his face blank.

“No,” He said, shrugging his massive shoulders.

“Of course you don’t!” Blaise cut in, waving his hand. “I was watching, third row from the top! That catch was a thing of beauty- ”

Draco let out a breath, letting Blaise take charge of the conversation. The talk progressed from there throughout dinner, cycling through Quidditch, then to what the Durmstrang students could expect from Hogwarts, and finally to the Triwizard Tournament. (Of course, that topic was sort of unavoidable.)

“Whuh do yu think vill enter?” Krum asked, taking a swig of pumpkin juice. This was met with a significant amount of surprise, as Krum hadn’t said a word since Draco butchered his attempt at conversation.

“I heard about a couple of seventh years who are going to enter,” Pansy chirped, always full of information. “Warrington, for starters. And Anthlick!”

“All must ve seventeen?” Krum stated, but he managed to phrase it like a question. Greg nodded, a dinner roll clutched in each fist.

“I’m still going to try, though,” Blaise declared. “Dumbledore won’t know what hit him. And once I’m chosen, they can’t stop me!”

The others quickly agreed, with Krum silent as ever.

“I’ll bet Potter enters,” Draco said, fiddling with his fork.

“Oh, that’s a good point,” Pansy squawked. “He’d do anything to be the hero again, wouldn’t he?” She looked over at Draco, clearly expecting him to agree.

“He’s not usually much for breaking rules, though,” Draco pondered. “At least not rules he can get caught breaking.” Draco looked across the hall, his eyes landing on Harry Potter. “He would be picked though,” he muttered, glowering at him. Watching him eat, chatting and laughing with his friends. He looked like the perfect golden boy, the ideal Hogwarts Champion. Teeming with talent and grace, adored by all.

Good thing he can’t get over the line.

***

While Draco Malfoy and the Slytherins were debating, Gryffindor’s fourth years were occupied by a very different question.

Ron in particular, was flaming as red as his hair, watching a Beauxbatons student carry a borrowed dish back to the Ravenclaw table.

Harry looked at Ron with a mix of curiosity and entertainment.

“She's a vella!” Ron exclaimed, watching as she made her way back.

“No, she’s not,” Hermione scoffed. “I don’t see anyone else goggling after her like an idiot.”

That wasn’t quite the case, though. The girl who would turn out to be Fleur Delacour could captivate just about any human being who was capable of being attracted to girls.

“I’m telling you!” Ron insisted, still staring. “That’s not a normal girl! They don’t make them like that at Hogwarts.”

“They make them alright at Hogwarts,” Harry shrugged. That girl did look sort of similar to the vella, and Harry was reminded of the nagging feeling that he had seen them before. He had probably seen them in a book or other, surely. “-Just a person,” Hermione scolded. She seemed to be egging Ron to go speak to Fleur, to which he was quite opposed.

Harry just sat back, enjoying the energy in the air.

When the feast was over, they started back to Gryffindor tower. The hall was more crowded than usual, with significantly more students exiting all at once. Karkaroff, the head of Durmstrang, was herding his students out the door and back to their ship. Harry, Ron, and Hermione tried, and failed, to sneak by. But the entrance hall was filled for the moment.

“Oh, let’s just wait,” Hermione huffed. “They’ll clear out in a minute.”

“Regardez ce garçon! Son bracelet est magnifique,” Harry looked over to see a girl from Beauxbatons, walking arm in arm with Fleur.

“Je le reconnais, c’est un Malefoy,” Fleur murmured to her friend, raising one elegant eyebrow. Harry followed their eye line, and saw that they were looking right at Draco Malfoy. He, Crabbe and Goyle had apparently been delayed in the entrance hall as well.

“Il serait plus élégant avec un collier ras de cou, mais il a bon goût,” the Fleur declared. As Harry watched, Malfoy turned, walking over to the two girls.

“Merci,” He said. “Vous êtes également admirable.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. He sounds just like one of the Beauxbatons students, Harry marvelled.

“Malfoy speaks French?” Hermione hissed, both she and Ron now watching the scene before them.

“Vous parlez français?” The first girl asked, grinning.

“Je SUIS français. Avez-vous apprécié le festin?” Malfoy gestured back to the Great Hall.

Fleur's friend tossed her hair back in a rather haughty way. “C’était…adéquat.”

“J'espère que vous apprécierez Hogwarts,” Malfoy purred. The two girls extended their hands. Malfoy swept down into a bow that would have looked appropriate in a ballet, giving each of their hands a whisper of a kiss.

“-Et merci pour les mots gentils à propos de mes bijoux.”

“À bientôt, Monsieur. Malefoy,” The two of them waltzed out the main doors, now smiling smugly to one another.

“Malfoy speaks French,” Harry deadpanned.

“Bully for Malfoy,” Ron snapped, watching Fleur and her friend make their way back to the Beauxbatons carriage.

“What were you talking about?” Goyle grunted, as Molfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle started down toward the dungeons.

“Nothing, really,” Malfoy shrugged. Goyle was still slack-jawed, Harry could see his brain trying to formulate a sentence.

“Can you teach me French?” He muttered. Malfoy squinted at him, taking a long pause before answering.

“Do you actually think I can?” He asked hesitantly, biting the corner of his mouth. Goyle merely shook his head, and the three of them disappeared into the dungeons.

Chapter Text

“What’s that all about?”

Ron asked as they headed up the stairs to Gryffindor tower.

“What’s what about?” Harry asked.

“That…french nonsense!” Ron snapped, blushing. “Since when does Malfoy speak french?”

“Since always, it seems,” Hermione replied. “Apparently Malfoy is French, he just said so himself.”

“Really?” Harry asked. “How can you tell?”

“I went to France for holiday, remember?” She said, “I know a bit of the language.”

“What were they talking about, then?” Ron asked, scowling. “What was so interesting to those girls?”

Hermione shrugged, “Something about jewellery, the feast, I didn’t hear many specifics, they were talking awfully quick.”

After a few more grumblings from Ron, the three of them returned to Gryffindor Tower.

Harry couldn’t describe it, but despite the excitement of the feast he spent that night quite unsettled. Lying in his bed, he found himself (almost) wishing he was back in the muggle world. Then he could go to the library to reference French, maybe even make good use of a computer. He doubted that Madam Pince could help him decipher what Malfoy and those Beauxbatons girls had been talking about. Good thing I don’t care, he thought to himself, nudging his pillow into a better position. So Malfoy speaks French. Why would that matter to me?

And he rolled over to go to sleep.

***

Draco Malfoy woke up the next morning, taking great care to be quiet. He wanted to get a proper look at the goblet, and the age line. In the name of speed, he decided to spend fifteen minutes stylizing instead of his usual half-hour. He settled on simple black diamonds in his ears, with a matching black ring. His father had sent him a new necklace a few weeks ago. Draco had hardly believed it when he opened the parcel, he could tell it was very expensive, and likely enchanted in some manner.

He had been looking for the right time to wear it. What better day to debut it than Halloween? Tonight the Hogwarts champion would be announced, Draco should look his best. The necklace had a thin chain, with a silver pendant shaped like a cloud. It sparkled in the mirror, hanging perfectly against his Slytherin robes. Draco smiled, satisfied, slipping out of the common room and setting off.

A few minutes later Draco stood, alone in the Great Hall, pondering. The Goblet of Fire was old and wooden, hardly what you would call impressive. It looked a good few days away from rotting away entirely. But it sparked with glowing flames, power thrumming inside it, waiting to judge whomever dared to submit their name.

Dumbledore’s age line shone gold and bright, a stark contrast to the goblet. Draco reached out, expecting to feel an invisible wall where the line was. But to his surprise, his hand passed by the line without any resistance.

What in the world?

Draco curiously took a step forward, now inside the line. He stared around in shock, about to jump to every possible conclusion, when something pulled him up. It was like being lifted by a cloud, Draco was reminded of how mother cats would lift misbehaving kittens by the scruff of their necks.

Gently, he was carried back behind the line, and placed on the floor. He dusted his robes off, contemplating.

I guess the line does work.

If someone underage had the intent to actually submit their name, Draco imagined that Dumbledore’s line would have been far more stern. This theory was proven correct later when two of the Weasley children attempted the use of an ageing potion. Draco watched their foolishness with great amusement, chuckling into his pumpkin juice.

As the day dragged on, Draco couldn’t help wondering how he would fare as Hogwarts’s Champion. (He, at least, would know how to act the part...) But in all honesty, he had been relieved when his father told him that only off-age wizards would be allowed to enter. Otherwise, he would have been expected to enter, and everyone would have borne witness to his eventual failure.

It was still fascinating to think about though, being the star of the school. Being hounded with attention and praise, everyone waiting to see how he would perform. What he would do next. But even if he did manage to submit his name, and he was chosen by some fantastic miracle, he would never measure up in the end.

As he and the rest of the Slytherins came in for the feast (and eventual name-drawing) Draco caught sight of the Gryffindors.

They were in very high spirits, cheerful and excited. Draco saw Potter holding court with his friends like he always did. He ate and laughed and talked, oblivious as always to his effortless charm and grace. Maybe he did it on purpose. How could anyone not realize how splendid they were? The way he ducked his unruly hair out of his eyes, the way he gestured with his flawless brown skin shone in the candlelight.

He is such a show-off, Draco glowered, poking at his chicken.

He could study until his fingers cramped, practice quidditch for hours, dress finely and always with elegance, but everyone would still see that he wasn’t up to snuff. He wasn’t his father. He was different, and not enough. He could try all he wanted, but some things were just decided for you. He couldn’t ever be great enough, unlike the perfect Harry Potter. But, wow. Did he want to be.

When the feast was finished, and the first three names had been drawn, Draco was already planning for the next few weeks. How best to root for Cedric Diggory, puzzling what the task could be, trying to convince Viktor Krum that he was cooler than he seemed, when the Goblet sparked again. The entire hall watched in shock, as Dumbledore read off the fourth and final name.

“Harry Potter.”

Chapter Text

“How did he do it?” Blaise hissed later that night, Draco and his friends tucked into their usual corner of the common room.

“I’ll bet Dumbledore put his name in for him,” Pansy said. “We all know that Potter’s his favourite.”

The same conversation had been going on ever since they left the feast. Draco still didn’t understand it. Hadn’t anyone noticed the tension in Potter’s jaw? The crease around his eyes when his name was called? It was the same look he got whenever Professor McGonogall asked him to demonstrate for the class. Harry Potter was scared, and surprised. 

But apparently no one else thought that. The whole of Slytherin was furious, convinced that Potter had managed to steal the spotlight for no good reason.

Draco could tell that wasn’t the case, he nibbled on his lip, having more questions by the second. If Potter hadn’t put his name in, then who had? Why? What did it mean for Harry Potter? What was he thinking?

***

Harry was starting to develop a hatred for the Triwizard Tournament. Last night, after his name came out of the goblet, he had been forced into a nauseating celebration in Gryffindor Tower, only to come upstairs and find out that his best friend, Ron Weasley, thought he’d done it all for attention.

Harry spent the weekend hiding out in the library with Hermione, avoiding Ron, and the school as a whole. Maybe he could have lived out his life happily as a wizard hermit.

But Monday waits for no man.

Harry trudged down to breakfast with the attitude of a very pouty dog. He even considered growling at some gossipping Slytherins when they passed by, but decided against it. Despite Hermione’s best efforts to cheer him up, Harry couldn’t find himself excited for Transfiguration class. When the mail came in, a large barn owl flapped down to Harry.

“Who’s that?” Hermione asked. Harry shrugged, untying the letter from its ankle. The envelope was thick and smooth, Harry’s name written on the front in swooping gold lettering. He tore it open, surprised to see that it contained barely three sentences.

I know you didn’t put your name in the Goblet of Fire. Can we talk? Third floor charms classroom, during dinner tonight.

Harry read the note several times, each with a varying degree of hope and shock. He thought about telling Hermione right then, but thought better of it. Harry wondered who it could be. It was too much to hope it was Ron, maybe it could be a teacher? Even Dumbledore? But why hadn’t they just approached him normally? Maybe it was a ministry official who could remove him from the tournament! But Dumbledore had said he was required to compete…

A terrifying thought occurred to him. Could it be Sirius? Could Sirius be here, at Hogwarts? Harry hated how much he hoped it was possible. But Sirius had no business being so close to getting thrown back in Azkaban. Besides, his handwriting was different, and he would have signed his name. But still, Harry wondered.

***

The day continued quite poorly. Harry was treated with nothing but stifling excitement from his fellow Gryffindors, and downright hostility, furious jabs or uproarious teasing from everyone else.

“Just ignore them,” Hermione said, brushing back her great bushy black hair. “They’ll get bored.” The whole time, Ron sat as far away from Harry as he could, glowering whenever someone asked Harry about the Tournament.

That evening, poor, innocent Colin Creevey came down to Harry’s potions class, collecting him for the weighing of the wands, and a truly horrid experience with Rita Skeeter. (“Are you excited to compete in the tournament, Harry?” “Why are we in a broom closet, again?”)

Finally breaking away from a photo shoot and the rest of the champions, Harry made his way down to the charms classroom on the third floor. The note said to meet there, today. Dinner would be starting any minute, right? He was right on time.

Harry leaned against the wall, deciding to wait. Was he about to find a way out of the tournament? Or could he be meeting with the person who did put his name into the goblet? Harry realised that he didn’t really care either way. He just wanted to talk to someone, besides Hermione or Sirius, who believed him.

“Hello.” A voice came from behind him. Harry turned, and to his surprise, Draco Malfoy was the one standing at the end of the hall.

“Malfoy?” Harry demanded. Unlike usual, Draco Malfoy didn’t look pompous or stuck up. His gaze was soft, his eyes less pointed than usual, and he was nibbling his bottom lip in a way that could almost be endearing. (Almost. Not in the present situation, obviously.)

“What do you want?” Harry crossed his arms, scowling.

“I put it in the letter, Potter.” Malfoy looked away, his nose twitching.

“I know you didn’t put your name in the Goblet of Fire.” Annoyance and disappointment grating in his stomach, Harry turned on his heel and stomped down the corridor. “Hey, wait!” Malfoy called. “Everyone is saying you did it on purpose! I just wanted to tell you I know it wasn’t you!”

Harry rounded on him, glaring. “Why do you care?” He snapped. “I’ve been saying that since the start! What’s to stop you from believing I did it all for attention?”

Malfoy looked him up and down, gaping in disbelief. “Don’t be daft, Potter. I’ve known you for over three years. I know you well enough to recognize your scared face.” Harry almost pinched himself, wondering if he was inside a dream.

“I’ll bet you’re pretty excited. Hoping to get a good laugh when I get gored to death?” He snapped.

Malfoy glared at him with more anger than was really necessary. “I just thought that after the World Cup, part of you stopped hating me!” He sniffed moodily, tugging at his cloak. “I wanted to try and be nice.” This sentiment was dampened by the fact that his expression was not unlike a child abandoned in the rain.

“Are you mental?” Harry blubbered, refusing to believe a thing. Draco’s cheeks flared red, and he crossed his arms.

“Forget it, Potter.” He brushed past Harry, stalking down the corridor. “Everyone can tell that you and Weasley are fighting, and you were there for me, so I thought I could try to return the favour!”

“When was I ‘there for you’?” Harry followed Malfoy down the corridor,

“Don’t make me say it, you git!” He snarled. “You didn’t turn me in when anyone else would have, and you looked freaked out the other night, so I wanted to try with you!” Harry’s eyes softened, he slowed in surprise.

“Obviously it was stupid,” Malfoy muttered. “Forget it.”

Harry stood there, watching Malfoy storm away. Something was building in his throat, and he called after him before he thought out whether he should speak or not. “I don’t hate you,” Harry called. “You’ve just always been a jerk.”

Malfoy stopped, turning. “You were a jerk to me first! My father had a fit when he knew I’d even spoken to you our first year! But I wanted to be friends.”

That was not how Harry remembered it. Malfoy had always been sarcastic, defensive, angry, and just plain nasty. But there he stood, chewing his lip, furious that his attempt at reaching out had gone so poorly.

“You never wanted to be friends,” Harry tried. Malfoy threw his hands in the air, aggravation flashing in his gaze. “You’re impossible.” He declared, before dashing back down the corridor. Harry was left more confused than ever, and determined to understand. But how?

Chapter Text

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Draco! He scolded himself, looping down random corridors and hallways, not knowing (or caring) where he was going. He just had to get away. He never should have written that stupid letter. What was he expecting? Harry Potter would rush forward, grateful that Draco knew the truth? That all their years of hate would be forgotten and they would skip into the Great Hall, friends forever?

Stupid, naive, foolish, Draco. He stopped, finally, sliding down against the nearest wall. He was a few floors up now, close to the North Tower. Draco sighed, wishing he had the foresight to go to the dungeons instead, then he could be hiding safely in his dormitory with his stash of mint candies.

Draco was relieved that everyone was at dinner, and he would have time to sneak downstairs without being seen. He started nibbling his lip again, struggling to formulate a plan. It was safe to assume that Potter would tell every one of his friends what had happened, Draco would be humiliated!

He gnawed at a cut on his bottom lip, already drawing out his lip balm, twirling it between his fingers. He had no idea how he would explain this to his friends. He would just have to hope he could quash the story before it reached his Father. He could only imagine how it would sound. Draco Malfoy, sidling up to Harry Potter, maybe even planning to help him win the tournament! Betraying his family! Blatantly ignoring his Father's crystal clear wishes!

Draco buried his head in his arms, wishing he had a time turner so he could go back and smack that blasted letter out of his own hands. What had he been thinking? What on earth made him send it? Maybe it was the tightness in Potter’s shoulders when someone scowled at him, or the droop in his eyes when Weasley looked past him. Maybe it was the way the rest of the Slytherin’s were taunting him, and the fact that Draco hadn’t said a word to silence them. But most likely, it was the same reason that he had disobeyed his father for the first time.

He was eleven when he proposed an alliance with Harry Potter. He had recognized him as the boy he had met in Madame Maxine’s, Draco remembered that he had been distracted by his hair while they were talking.

Standing on the Hogwarts Express, knowing who he was, there had been a bright warmth in his chest, blooming like a particularly stubborn flower. The flowers seemed to whisper to him, “You must…you must…You must.”

So, he did.

Fat load of good that does me now!

Draco furiously applied his lip balm, realizing he would just have to lie. He had some skills, didn’t he? Confidence, swagger, a well-placed word or two. When people inevitably started asking him about it, he would say it was all fake. A pointless story Potter had concocted to try and embarrass Draco, or take some of the heat off himself for illegally entering the tournament.

Seeing the time, Draco started shuffling back to his dormitory, bracing himself for the scene he was inevitably walking into.

***

This must be a trick, Draco thought, looking at the Gryffindor table where Potter sat. Draco had been avoiding the Great Hall, instead asking Vince and Greg to bring him some food, although he suspected they were stealing a significant amount. Like usual, they hadn’t asked any questions. (Thank goodness.) Vince and Greg emerged from the Great Hall a second later, handing Draco a piece of toast that he took gratefully. The three of them set off to the greenhouses.

It had been three days, and no one had so much as suggested that Draco was anything but Harry Potter’s bitter rival. There was only one conclusion, that Harry was plotting something worse than a casual undermining.

Harry had kept showing up wherever Draco was, a glint in his eye that Draco had never seen before. The only thing for him to do was keep avoiding Harry as best he could, until he could think up a plan. The problem was, Harry Potter was getting awfully hard to steer clear of.

***

Harry sat in History of Magic, wishing, for once, that Draco Malfoy was in his class. But he was at Herbology, and Harry was stuck listening to Professor Binns drone on about ancient agreements and treaties.

Harry had been turning his conversation with Malfoy over and over in his mind, but he couldn’t make heads or tails of anything. He had so many questions, and a serious hunger to talk with Malfoy again. Harry had been trying to approach him for days. But whenever he got close, Malfoy would immediately find urgent business elsewhere, once in an unmarked door that Harry had tried to force open for five minutes until Hermione dragged him away. ("What are you DOING? We're going to be late for charms!" Just give me a second!")

Malfoy had waltzed into Harry’s business, with his letters and his declarations of friendship, and then disappeared! Going on about “I know it wasn't you,” when Harry's best friend was avoiding him like a leper!

Annoyed, Harry looked back at Professor Binns, who was continuing his monotone lecture. “With the popularisation of wizard parlays, negotiations became far easier, notably in the Lone Wizard’s riot of 1840-” Harry straightened up, an idea finally occurring to him.

You can’t avoid me forever, Malfoy. 

Chapter Text

“Hermione!” Harry called, the second they left Professor Binns' room.

“What’s a wizard’s parlay?”

“Oh come on, Harry.” She stared at him in disbelief. “Professor Binns has been talking about them for ages. How can you still not know?” Harry tamped down the urge to defend himself, instead choosing to stay the course.

Like I’m the only one who can’t comprehend Professor Binns.

“Well, since I’m so behind, can you please explain it to me?” Hermione huffed impatiently, but started.

“Wizard parlays are an ancient ritual, between two or more magic users. They place their wands together and it forms a sort of staff.” She mimed this with her hands. “Then they discuss terms. As long as all the parties agree, the terms are binding. The staff acts as a way to keep everyone in line. Wizards used to do things like that during all kinds of meetings, or gatherings that could easily turn violent, stuff like that.”

Harry nodded, a plan clicking together in his head. “So, you can make rules and talk things out, and get answers, and the wands watch over everything?”

Hermione nodded, still surprised at his lack of knowledge. “There was a particularly fascinating parlay in 1888, when the Salem Witches Institute had a not-so-civil, civil dispute, and- ” She continued on, giving no signs of stopping. Not eager for a re-hashing of History of Magic, Harry turned his thoughts back to Draco Malfoy.

He needed to speak with him, and maybe this was a way. They arrived at lunch, but after almost an hour Malfoy had yet to make an appearance. Harry saw Crabbe and Goyle, Blaise, Zabini and Parkinson, but no such luck with the boy he actually wanted to see.

I guess I’ll just have to find him myself.

***

After lunch, Harry scoured the entire castle. Malfoy was already finished with classes for the day, so he could be anywhere. Harry ducked into every classroom he could find, (narrowly dodging an extra credit assignment from Professor McGonogall.) Peered behind suits of armour, and asked everyone he saw, only to admit that he didn’t have any real idea where Malfoy spent his free time.

That evening, he sat stewing in the Gryffindor common room. Stubbornness thrumming in his hands, he decided to take a page out of Malfoy’s book, and scrawled him a note.

Malfoy, I want a wizard’s parlay. We need to talk. Same hallway, midnight tomorrow. WRITE ME BACK. If you don’t respond, I will break into your dormitory and we can talk there.

- Harry

Unknown to Malfoy, Harry had broken into the Slytherin dungeons with Ron in his second year, trying to uncover proof about the heir of Slytherin. And unknown even to Harry, he was motivated enough to make good on his threat.

He walked to the owlery as the sun was setting, the gold and yellow highlighting the castle. Hedwig soared down to meet him, nipping his finger affectionately.

“I’ve got a letter for you to deliver, okay?” Harry stroked her.

“I want to do something stupid but the person in question won’t talk to me.” Hedwig took the note in her beak. And after emitting a reassuring twitter, soared up and out one of the Owlery’s high windows.

The next morning, Hedwig flapped into the Great Hall with the usual flock of owls, dropping a crumpled note onto his plate. Harry recognized it as the same one he had sent Draco last night, but with two new words written on the back in almost annoyingly perfect writing.

Fine, Potter.

“What’s that?” Hermione asked, leaning over, a clump of waffles speared on her fork.

“Nothing,” Harry smiled, his fingers tingling where he touched Malfoy’s words.

***

This is it, Draco moped, sucking on his mint. I’ll have to leave the country. “Oi, Malfoy!” Vince called. “What are you doing?”

“Homework,” Draco responded. He was splayed out over one of the couches, arms crossed, his bag of mints in his lap. His books sat next to him, but only as a prop for answering questions. Vince and Greg were sitting at one of the surrounding tables, trying to hex a slug. The three of them usually studied together at this time, but he could tell they weren’t very worried about it.

Usually Draco tried to avoid the common room when it was this empty, but he had nowhere else to go. The kitchens were busy, Blaise was napping in their dormitory, and everywhere else in the stupid school, was a place Harry Potter could skulk around.

When Draco Malfoy first saw the Slytherin common room, he almost had a heart attack. He had been led underground, excited, only to emerge into a near-nightmare. The walls were wooden and elegant, lined with gold art. There were comfortable couches and chairs everywhere, and enchanted lamps hanging down that shone brighter depending on how much you needed the light. None of that was the problem.

It was the windows. They were everywhere, in the common room, in his dormitory, as well as every other one. Beyond them was the lake. They had a full view of the murky underwater, almost like they were in it themselves. It shone through the glass with pulsing green light, waves and currents swirling mere inches away. Every manner of creature swam past at some point or other, usually waving to the Slytherin’s, or occasionally posing for them (the giant squid in particular loved being drawn.) Their proximity to the lake was one of the things the Slytherins were most proud of. They had a view that no one else could dream off.

Draco hated it.

He knew there had been a time when he hadn’t hated water, he just couldn’t remember it. Water was a crashing, chilling, fatal, abyss, that Draco would avoid at all costs. His first day at Hogwarts, Draco had immediately claimed the bed as far away from the windows as possible. He was usually fine when the common room was crowded. The more people blocking the way, the better. But today, Draco sat there with no one but Vince and Greg, worrying incessantly about Harry Potter.

Chapter Text

Harry sat in the empty charms classroom, waiting, once again, for Draco Malfoy. He was sitting on top of one of the desks, looking around.

The room was dark, lined with books and odd little machines used during class. Harry hopped up, pushing a few of the desks to the side, clearing a space in the middle of the floor. He caught sight of himself in one of the polished surfaces, his reflection looking up at himself.

He squinted, examining himself. He looked like a typical Indian boy, with a dash of white mixed in. He had always been a touch skinny, but was still solidly built from years of quidditch. His skin was a plain brown, inherited from his father’s side, with the famous lightning scar on his forehead. His hair was black and unruly, falling wherever it pleased. His eyes stood out a good bit, bright and wide and green. They were his mother’s eyes. And now, they were glinting with anticipation.

Hurry up, Malfoy, He grumbled internally, just as the door squeaked open and Draco Malfoy crept into the room, still holding his schoolbag.

***

The two of them sat on the floor, facing one another, awkwardness hanging in the air.

“So, how do we do this?” Harry asked.

“Are you serious, Potter?” Malfoy drawled. “This whole thing was your idea!” Harry glared at him.

“Whatever, I knew this would happen,” Malfoy grumbled. He reached into his bag, pulling out a small book titled Magical Rituals for Magical Humans. He opened it to a bookmarked page, placing it on the floor.

“Take out your wand,” Malfoy read, bringing out his own, and setting it on the floor between them. Harry followed suit, his heart beating against his chest. Draco examined the page for a second longer before setting it off to the side. “Now to say the spell…” He murmured. “-And they should connect right away to start the parlay.” Harry nodded, eyes on their wands.

“Conniact Inviniglar,” Malfoy said, his hand hovering over the two wands.

A giant plume of spoke exploded around them, shining sweet deep blue. Their wands jumped up, clamping together, and began circling the two of them. Harry stared as their wands spun through the air, waiting for the parlay to begin.

“I think it worked,” Harry said. Malfoy nodded in agreement. “Now we can start.”

***

“I hope this satisfies you,” Malfoy said, smoothing out his robes. “-I don’t think your pathetic life can handle another disappointment.”

“Oh, you are just begging to get punched!” Harry yelled, shooting to his feet.

“Try me, Potter!” Malfoy shot back, standing as well. Their wands sparked angrily, the smoke around them deepening to a frustrated red. They drew back, returning to a sitting position.

“So, rules?” Malfoy said, eyeing their wands worriedly.

“Right,” Harry muttered. This is the important bit. “How about we agree to tell the truth?” Harry asked. Or else this whole thing is pointless.

“I’m not spilling my guts to you because you blackmailed me into a parlay, Potter.” Malfoy snarled.

"I hope not, your guts are filthy."

The wands rose up one more, sparks shooting out of the end, threatening to zap the both of them.

“Excuse you, Potter-!” The wands hissed louder, pointing between the two of them scoldingly.

“I don’t think it likes when we call each other that way,” Malfoy said worriedly.

“What, by our names?” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Our last names. Whenever we do, it keeps hissing at us. Can’t you tell, Harry?”

The wands fluttered, almost like they were nodding in approval. Harry raised his eyebrows, realising he was right.

“Fine, Draco, can we agree to tell the truth, then? No lying?”

“Alright, I won’t lie.” He agreed. “-But that doesn’t mean I’m telling you everything.”

“Fair enough.” Harry nodded. “And I suppose we’re using our first names?”

“Seems smart.” Draco examined his nails, his face very self-righteous. With each agreement, the wands glowed a dash brighter, and the smoke clouded fuller around them, sealing the parlay.

“Do we need any other rules?” Harry asked, trying to ignore the irritation flaring in his chest.

“I can’t think of anything,” Draco drawled. “Again, this was your idea.”

“Why do you always talk like that?” Harry asked, annoyed.

“Like what?” Draco blinked.

“Like, so slow! And sneering! The whole drawling way you talk!” Harry tried to gesture with his hands.

“Is that your first question?” Draco asked.

Harry sighed. “Yeah, sure.”

Draco bit the corner of his lip, considering. “I guess because it’s easier that way. When I get really worked up and I start talking fast, I sometimes slip up,” He shrugged. “I don’t need to ostracise myself by blurting things out in French.”

“Well, could you stop it?” Harry demanded. “It’s infuriating.”

Draco’s head whipped up, jilted. “I’ll stop once you stop doing that stupid thing with your glasses!” He crossed his arms.

“What ‘thing’?” Harry cried out, his face getting hot. Draco rolled his eyes.

“When they start to fall down, and you do that stupid flip thing with your finger? Obviously?” He tried to demonstrate, but it didn’t really work, as Draco didn’t have glasses.

Do I really do that? Harry shook his head, “This doesn’t matter. I have something actually important to ask you. How did you know I didn’t put my name in the goblet?”

Draco didn’t say anything at first, looking at the floor. The wands zipped up, nudging him encouragingly. “I guess it was the look on your face,” He whispered. “I could- something was off.” Seeing as the wands didn’t blast him, Harry decided to take his word on it.

“What about everything else you said, did you really want to be friends when we first met?” That was something Harry couldn’t quite believe.

Draco clutched his knees to his chest, staring at the floor. “Yes, I did.”

Harry’s eyes widened.

“We first met in Madame Maxine’s, remember?” Draco continued, “I thought you seemed interesting, much more so than the other kids I knew. Then, later, I realised who you actually were, and, well…” He trailed off. “Whatever. My turn.” He sat up straighter, and the wands flew away from him, looking at Harry instead.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about the letter?”

That’s your question? Really? “What motivation would I have for telling someone? Why would they care?” Harry said dismissively.

Draco stared at him, his mouth gaping open. “To embarrass me? To ruin my reputation? Why else!”

“If I really wanted to wreck you,” Harry replied, pointing a finger at him. “I would steal your fancy potion and let everyone see the fact that you have heterochromia. You're certainly embarrassed enough about it.”

Chapter Text

Something seized in Draco’s lungs.

Is he going to tell? Does he know where my vials are? He said he could break into my dormitory…what if he already did! He lured me here! It was all part of his plan!

Draco was spiralling fully, the taste of blood in his mouth.

“I’m not, though,” Harry broke in, eyeing him weirdly. “Look at our wands if you don’t believe me.”

Draco peered at them, sure enough, they were calm and still. Harry wasn’t lying, which meant he wasn’t planning on exposing him, (Yet.)

Draco let out a breath, relieved. Why do you hide it, anyway?” Harry asked. “I thought your eyes were kind of pretty.” The flowers were blooming in Draco’s chest again. Filling him inside, murmuring for him to tell Harry everything. “It will feel good to tell,” they urged. “He said your eyes were pretty, didn’t he? He won’t be like the others.” But Draco remembered the last time he had tried to connect with Harry Potter.

Fear curled inside him, stifling the flowers. So instead, he swallowed his words, shaking his head.

“Alright,” Harry sighed, looking weirdly disappointed.

“Are we done, then?” Draco tried, fiddling with his earring. “Yeah, I guess,” the wands clattered to the ground, the smoke dissipating. The parlay was over. Harry stood up, picking up his wand and starting toward the door.

“Wait!” Draco called. Harry stopped, turning. “Do you- do you want to go for a walk?” Draco blurted out. Just like he had with Viktor Krum, he immediately regretted it. Why do you keep doing these things! Stupid! Stupid Draco!

But to his surprised delight, Harry nodded.

“Sure. Let’s go for a walk.”

“Can we go around the east grounds? No one ever goes there.”

“Good idea.”

***

Harry had just spent the last hour walking around the Hogwarts grounds with Draco Malfoy. (Maybe the more he thought about it, it would start to make sense.) They had ended up talking quite a bit. (Or rather, Harry talked,) About the Triwizard Tournament, Ron, and the fact that everyone seemed to think he had gotten himself into his current situation on purpose.

Draco had listened patiently to everything Harry had to say. He agreed with Harry that Ron was acting like a prat, and never interrupted, only asking questions. Eventually they had ended up near the Quidditch pitch, where both of them shared their disdain over the Quidditch Cup being cancelled. (Although they did get into a spirited debate about who would have won,) it felt surprisingly good.

Draco didn’t try to tell Harry what he should do, like Hermione did. And he was very still and quiet, an almost calming presence. It was too bad Harry didn’t know anyone else like Draco. But why was he being like this? Harry didn’t understand. Draco had said he wanted to try to return the favour from the World Cup. But had it really been that big a deal? Draco clearly couldn’t stand the thought of anyone knowing about his heterochromia, Harry would have to be a real git to ignore that. While Harry had been tempted to get some iota of revenge, His silence was common decency, right? Draco kept getting worked up about the most random things!

Harry had tried to ask him about his eyes again, (why is he so shut off about it?) But Draco had clammed up, sniffing moodily and promptly changing the subject.

***

On the other side of the castle, Draco was curled up on his bed, the drapes drawn around his bed. Everyone was already asleep around him. He had wiped off his makeup, removed his earrings, with his natural eyes shining. His journal was propped against his legs, blank pages waiting to be filled. His day had exhausted him, but he still sat propped with his journal.

He adored his journal. His mother had brought it home for him when he received his Hogwarts letter. His father had laughed (“What’s the point of that? What purpose does it serve?”) But Draco loved it all the same. It was silver coloured, inlaid with black gold. He had written in it every day since, trying to write beautiful things, because his journal just looked like one of those things that was meant to be filled with beautiful things.

It was enchanted, so no matter how many pages he filled, there was always more. Whatever he felt, whatever he wanted to see, he wrote it all down as well as he could. Some people would have called it poetry, but Draco preferred to just call it his words. Poetry sounded so…pretentious.

He tapped his quill against the book, his eyes tired, but still started to write.

'The air hangs in still surrounding. Untouched, waiting, breathless and anticipating. What wondrous events may come to pass When the barriers fall at last Filling the air with love and joy, So real, so good, it at last comes to pass'

Draco wrote like this quite a lot, not knowing where he was going. He wanted to write another line or two, but his eyes were already fluttering closed.

***

Draco woke up the next morning, his journal clutched to his chest, remembering the events of yesterday. He stretched, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Well, he breathed, feeling for his side table in the dark, thinking about the walk he had taken yesterday with Harry. Draco had liked hearing him talk, he had interesting things to say. But it had been phenomenally risky. 

At least it’s over. Harry was going to keep quiet (for now.) And now, Draco would never have to come near him again. He would stay away from the fourth Triwizard champion. He would root for Cedric Diggory, study for classes, and go about his business normally. And none of that business would involve Harry Potter.

It’s interesting to think, reader, that he actually believed that.

Chapter Text

While Draco Malfoy writes in his journal, determined to tend to ‘his business,’ Harry receives a letter from his godfather, Sirius Black. Sirius tells Harry to be in front of the Gryffindor fire that night, so they could talk. But that same day, Harry is approached by Hagrid. Hagrid whispers that he has something important to show him. That ‘something important,’ would turn out to be the nature of the first task- dragons.

Harry races from the Forbidden Forest to the Gryffindor common room, running into Karkaroff along the way. He arrives at the common room to see his godfather in the fire, and tells him in near-panic what is happening. But like so many others, these scenes are already finished elsewhere. There’s more important things going to happen here.

We enter back to our story with a sound coming from the dormitory staircase, and Harry telling Sirius to flee just when he was about to tell his godson how to survive a dragon.

“Who are you talking to?” Ron asked, standing at the foot of the stairs.

Rage flared inside Harry. It was completely irrational, he knew that. Ron had no way to know what he had just interrupted, how important it was. But he had interrupted him, and Harry was beyond reason.

“Why are you up?” He demanded. Ron bristled, taken aback.

“I just wanted to know why you were wandering around at this hour, chattering to yourself.”

“I am not wandering!” Harry insisted. “Would you go away?” Ron took a step back, his face flaring red.

“Fine,” he snapped, turning back towards the staircase. “Good luck.”

***

The next morning Ron stalked past Harry, lifting his nose in the air. Harry tells Hermione what happened the night before, and they begin their frantic search for answers. Every spare hour in the library, looking for spells to stop a dragon.

But eventually, as the week goes on, Hermione is pulled away to handle schoolwork. By Tuesday, Hermione is has to leave Harry by himself. She does so all while apologising over and over to Harry, insisting to be back the second she finished. Harry tried to keep looking, but every second he was interrupted by worries for the future, gossipy whispers, or jeering from the other kids in the library.

He sat down at his table, stewing. He couldn’t focus on a thing. Plagued by worries for the coming Thursday, without Hermione to pull him back to Earth. He was definitely not in the mood for homework, and he couldn’t get into the common room without being heckled with praise and excitement.

He had an idea. A single, blonde, pale, idea.

No. That’s stupid.

He got up, deciding to go visit Hedwig and not return until he felt better. He would not be seeking out Draco Malfoy.

But less than an hour later, Harry found himself waiting outside the classroom he knew Draco was in, waiting for him to come out.

When he finally did, Harry gestured from his alcove. Draco crept over, looking around fervently.

“Harry?” He asked quizzically. “Is something wrong?”

Harry stuck his hands in his pockets. “Are you free to go for another walk? Hermione has homework and Ron’s still not talking to me. Also, I have a very serious problem.”

“Is he not talking to you, or are you not talking to him?” Draco asked.

“A bit of both,” Harry amended.

And they set off into the corridors where they were sure not to be disturbed.

***

“A dragon?” Draco gasped. “How is that allowed?”

“Exactly!” Harry yelped. "I’m doomed.”

Draco bit his thumb nail, concentrating very hard. He looked at Harry, steel determination flashing in his eyes.

“We still have time,” he murmured. “We can figure this out.”

“We?” Harry asked.

“Yes, Potter. I’m going to help you. Do you honestly think that you can do this alone?” Draco rolled his eyes, setting off with Harry in tow.

***

“I would say that the key is finding out what you can do, specifically, to get past a dragon,” Draco muttered, spreading scrolls out on the floor of an empty hallway several floors above normal castle activities.

They had come up here after Harry finished telling Draco about the dragons, and Draco had (foolishly) offered to help. He hadn’t even wondered about it.

“I’ve made a list of known dragon weak spots, so we can look into potential weaknesses.” Draco laid down on his stomach, scribbling on the nearest parchment.

Should I really be doing this? Any Hogwarts victory is a good victory, right? Yeah. That works.

“What are your skills?” He asked, not looking up.

“Quidditch,” Harry said immediately.

No kidding, Draco frowned.

“You can’t hit a dragon with a bludger,” He snapped, raising an eyebrow.

“You asked what I’m good at,” Harry muttered. “It’s quidditch.”

“What else are you good at? Specific spells? Potions, maybe? Special skills?” Draco asked, ready to list them.

“Um…quidditch,” Harry repeated.

At this, Draco rolled his eyes with enough panache to power an amateur theatrical production.

“Let’s skip ahead to dragon weaknesses,” Draco said, trying to resist the urge to bury his face in his hands.

This boy is HOPELESS.

“Weakness?” Harry said. “That’s great! What are they?” Harry sat forward eagerly, peering over Draco’s shoulder. Draco could feel Harry’s robes falling on his back, he shivered. Does he have to be so close?

“...Draco?” Harry asked. “What are they?”

“Right!” Draco flushed, reading out loud from his parchment. “It says that dragon hides are impossibly tough…they’re very dedicated to their egg clutches…their eyes are vulnerable, but when angered they become far more ferocious...beware the females of any subspecies…”

Harry sighed, his breath tickling Draco’s neck. “What can I do with that?” He said grudgingly. “Hypnotise it?”

Draco nibbled his lip, pondering. “What would you do if you were a dragon?”

“I’d eat me.”

“Helpful, you absolute chien. It says they’re volatile. If you attack it directly, it’ll come at you and crush you twice as fast.” He tapped the parchment worriedly, looking over at Harry. “We could make you invisible, maybe make a bigger target for it to go after?”

“How do we do that?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know.”

“This is already so helpful, Malfoy.”

“Shut up, Potter.”

Chapter Text

Some of you surely remember the book, and how quickly time passes between Halloween and the first task. But this is my version. The timing between these two events will be far more stretched out, as there’s a lot to do. Now, let us return to Draco Malfoy, who has roped himself into helping Harry Potter.

***

A dragon. Harry is going to fight a real, fire breathing dragon. Draco tugged nervously on his necklace, his mind spinning. He knew the tournament was supposed to be dangerous, but this was unbelievable.

He could die.

Draco had already combed through every dragon reference he had, but so far he had nothing that would help Harry fight one on his own. You can't sneak past one. You can’t stun one. What had he been expecting?

Don’t think like that, he chided himself. I said I would help, didn’t I? Don't give up so easy!  And he had every intention to do so. The flowers inside him were recoiling at the thought of such a beast stomping toward Harry Potter, ready to bite him in half. But Draco was…just Draco. He wasn’t a dragon expert. He wasn’t an auror, or a ministry official, he wasn’t anything special.

So Draco did what he usually did when he was stuck. He wrote to his father. The Malfoys only used the very best owls, if he wrote fast he could get an answer by tomorrow morning. Draco couldn’t tell him everything, but if he was careful, he wouldn’t have to lie.

My dear Father,

I need your opinion. I have reason to believe that I am soon going to be in close proximity to a dragon. What method would you recommend in case it gets too close? I would hate to die in such an unhonorable way. Also, thank you for the necklace. I haven’t figured out what it does yet, but I will soon. Tell Maman I miss her, please.

Love,

Draco

He sent it the second the ink dried, praying that his father would come through for him. He always had before, hadn’t he?

But the letter he received the next day was disappointing, to say the least.

My son,

You have figured out the first task. Very clever, I must admit. While I understand the desire to win, we must let the Hogwarts Champion prove himself, alone. Also, try taking the necklace outside. That will help.

We miss you terribly,

Lucius Malfoy

Draco sighed, he should have figured. Of course his father already knew the first task! Draco should have known he wouldn’t fall for such a transparent question. His family had always believed in self-reliance, particularly when it was not their reputation on the line. If I was the champion, I bet he would have been willing to help, he frowned, carefully folding the letter into his pocket.

***

“Any luck?” Harry asked. The two of them had meeting up every other evening to compare research. Draco shook his head grumpily.

“I tried writing my father, but he couldn’t help.”

“Shocker,” Harry muttered.

“I did have an idea, though…” Draco said. It was a terrible idea, to be clear. But he just couldn't handle that worried, creasing expression on Harry's face.

“The dragons were in the forest, right?” Draco asked tentatively. Harry nodded. “They’re probably still there. Why don’t we go back?” Draco drew in a breath, “I’ve been reading these journals from dragon trainers, they say that dragons can be very trusting and even affectionate with their trainers.”

“So your suggestion is we try to make friends with the dragons?”

Draco nodded. No way he says yes. This is the worst plan ever. I’ll just tell him this was a joke!

“Okay,” Harry nodded, cutting into Draco’s panic. “Meet me in the Entrance Hall at eleven.”

Wait, what?

***

Draco stood in the Entrance Hall, five minutes to eleven. He had bundled up, the night air was sure to be freezing.

I still can’t believe I’m out here. I should be asleep.

He hadn’t snuck out after dark since he was eleven. Harry and his friends had tricked him into going searching for a dragon, only for him to end up serving detention in the forbidden forest. He could have sworn he had see it that night in Hagrid's cabin...he still had no idea how they'd done it.

Either way, after that Draco had sworn to his father to never try it again. Yet. Here he was.

I’ll bet he’s trying to get me in trouble again! I need to get out of here-

“Hey, Draco,” A voice hissed in his ear.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Hands yanked him back, a hand clapping over Draco’s mouth.

“You idiot,” The voice hissed. Draco knew that voice.

“We need to get out of here, there’ll be someone any second.”

“Harry?” Draco gasped. He looked around frantically, but he didn’t see anything. “What- where are-?” Draco floundered, reaching out.

“Shhhh!” Something light and sparkling was thrown over Draco. He only had a second to wonder what it was, before Harry’s face appeared three inches from his nose. “Now be quiet,” Harry said, his voice prickling, staring around the hall. A sort of translucent fabric covered the two of them. Draco reached out in wonder. It was soft, and watery. There’s no way…Draco's eyes grew wide.

“All right,” Harry breathed after a moment. No one had swept out to get them in trouble, maybe terrified screaming was commonplace at this time of night.

“I think we’re safe,” Harry smiled. Draco could feel the warmth of his breath on his face. “You have an invisibility cloak,” He breathed, stunned. How do you always get the best of everything?

“It was my dad’s,” Harry muttered. “It’s awfully useful.”

“I can imagine.” The two of them were squeezed together very tight, the cloak covering them both. Harry didn't seem to notice.

“Blimey though, you startle easily, don’t you?” Harry laughed.

Draco huffed, wishing that he could step away from Harry. (He was far too close.)

“You would too,” Draco snarled. “-If a disembodied voice started whispering to you.”

“You have no idea,” Harry muttered, grabbing Draco’s arm(How dare he-!)and started toward the forest.

***

Draco usually liked the night. It was warm and peaceful. Safe, with bright speckled stars.

But the forbidden forest was different in every single aspect. It was like Darkness herself had spread her hands over the trees, dunking it in blackness.

By the time they got to the forest the foliage was so thick overhead he couldn’t even see the moon.

Thankfully, Harry had removed the cloak from around them once they entered the forest. Draco didn’t want to worry about Harry’s hands brushing against his arm, his breath on Draco’s hair. Now he could focus on the fact that he was waltzing into one of the most dangerous places in Britain.

Instead of bugs or creatures chirping around them, the forest was completely silent. It was horribly unnerving. Harry seemed far more at ease with the forest than Draco was, but that was hardly a surprise. He probably explores out here every other day. Making friends with werewolves, taming unicorns…

“Do you remember our first year?” Draco whispered, “We had to come here for detention?”

Harry grinned smugly. “Yeah. You ran off scared with Fang after like twenty minutes. You could have at least left me the lantern.”

Draco bristled, happy no one could see the blood rising in his cheeks.

“You mean to say you can’t use lumos?" He snapped back. "That’s embarrassing.”

Harry barked a laugh. “Jokes on you if you run off this time! You’ll be alone out here with dragons running around.”

Draco shivered. “True. How far are paddocks? Are we almost there?”

“I dunno," Harry shrugged. "I think they’re close.” They continued into the forest, Draco wishing that he had just stayed in bed.

Chapter Text

It took them a bit longer than planned to find the dragon paddocks. Without Hagrid to guide him, Harry kept getting turned around.

Draco Malfoy wasn’t helping things, flinching away from shadows and cursing. When they did find the paddocks, it was nothing like before. Harry remembered it as loud, bright, and horrifying. Now there was only the form of a scaly, sleeping beast sleeping in the shadows. The dragons had apparently been separated, the next closest one was about half a mile away, firmly fastened to a stake in the ground.

The dragon keepers were nowhere to be seen.

The two of them crept forward, getting a closer look. Through the dark Harry saw a glimpse of blue wings.

“That must be the Swedish Short-Snout,” Harry murmured to Draco, stepping toward it.

“What are you doing?” Draco demanded, yanking him back. “What if you wake it up?” Harry rolled his eyes.

“How else are we supposed to become friends? Send gift baskets?” Draco went silent, before tentatively following Harry forward.

This was your idea, after all. The short-snout shifted as it approached, before opening one enormous blue eye. Harry held his breath, staring as she reared up, shaking her head out sleepily. Her wings glistened in the dim light, bright and smooth as snow.

“What do we do?” Draco asked, clinging fearfully to Harry’s robes. At his voice, the dragon looked down at the two of them. An oddly warm breeze fluttered by them, and Harry saw a yellow-blue sheen on the short-snout as it moved forward.

What’s it doing?

She inched closer, blinking her enormous eyes at them. Something gripped Harry’s chest in panic as she extended her claw. They were like long dangling fingers, with extra deadly fingernails. She reached forward, before plucking Draco off the ground and lifting him into the air.

Harry shrieked in panic, lunging to try and grab Draco, only to miss spectacularly.

“Aaaaaah!” Draco yelped, dropping his wand with a start. Harry watched in shock as Draco shot into the air, carried by the Swedish Short-Snout.

“What’s happening!” Harry shrieked, scrambling for his wand.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Draco yelped, his voice softer now with the distance. “She’s going to eat me!” He was clenched firmly in the dragon’s fist, his legs kicking the open air.

Harry pointed his wand up at her, ready to curse the dragon into oblivion, when something happened that made him pause. The dragon leaned out, sniffing Draco and inhaling deeply, like he was some lovely rose.

Harry’s hair ruffled in the wind. The dragon reached out a single claw, stroking Draco with stunning gentleness. She made a strange growling sound, that could have been cute if it wasn’t as loud as a bullhorn.

No way… Harry stared, mesmerised. She likes him. Could this plan actually work? Could he get past a dragon without fighting one? Harry squinted, trying to catch a glimpse of Draco, who was being held half a hundred metres in the air.

“Are you alright up there?” Harry called.

“Well she’s not scared of me,” Draco called down, pushing against the dragon’s claws. “But this sort of -ow- hurts!”

Oh no, Harry blanched. That thing could crush him in her claws like a grape. Why had he let Draco do this? He had to do something!

“Can you let me go, please?” Draco gasped, shoving against her claws. “No no no no no no no no!” He yelped, the dragon lifting him closer to her eyes. She sniffed him again, curiously fluffing his hair with one long claw.

“Draco!” Harry roared. “Hold on, I’m coming!”

“Harry- no!” Draco yelled down. “You’ll upset her! Get help!”

Harry scrambled around the forest floor, feeling for a weapon. He picked up a stone, and chucked as hard as he could, hitting her in the side. The dragon growled, spreading her wings as much as they would in her binds. She roared angrily at him, stomping her feet.

“Could you maybe not throw things when she’s holding me, Potter?” Draco yelled down to him, now hanging onto her claws for dear life as she roared angrily.

“Put him down, you overgrown lizard!” Harry yelled, continuing to fling bits of rock and twigs. Now thoroughly irritated, the Swedish Short-Snout opened her mouth, lunging toward Harry with a snarl. The good news was, she was so distracted that she let Draco go. The bad news was, he was now plummeting toward the rapidly approaching ground. Oops.

Draco’s yell pierced the air, flailing wildly, reaching desperately as if to grab the air. Harry’s heart fell into his stomach. He sprinted forward, raising his arms above his head.

“OOF!”

Draco crashed into Harry’s arms, the two of them collapsing to the ground with a nauseating crunch.

“Aaaaugh,” Draco groaned softly.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, rolling over in the grass, eyes wild.

“Ma jambe, my leg-” Draco whimpered. “Something’s -ergh- wrong with it!” Harry gaped at Draco’s leg, his stomach turning. I don’t think limbs bend that way…

But before Harry could puke, the Swedish Short-Snout rose up, snarling at the two of them, ready to kill. Harry fumbled for his wand, but the short-snout merely growled angrily, coughing a plume of dissatisfied smoke on them before turning and lying back down with an enormous FWUMP.

“I think she’s done with us now,” Draco moaned, panting.

“Oh, really? That’s not a clever new attack?” Harry forced himself to look back at Draco’s leg. “Can you stand?”

“Watch me,”

Oh boy.

Draco buckled immediately, crumbling back to the ground with a truly pathetic cry. “Give me a second, Potter.”

Harry watched him struggle with waning confidence. “Here, let’s do this instead,” Harry reached forward, wrapping his arms around Draco’s legs and chest, heaving him into the air. Draco gasped in pain, forcing out words through clenched teeth. “What are you doing!” He hissed. “Put me down at once!”

“You can’t walk, you idiot,” Harry grunted, starting back towards the castle. Draco seemed like he was going to argue the point. But he only grumbled a little, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck.

“Don’t you dare drop me.”

Luckily Draco wasn’t that heavy, but they would have to get all the way up to the hospital wing. They walked on, Harry bending down briefly to grab Draco’s wand off the grass. Draco whimpered in pain when he did so, his fractured leg brushing the ground.

Harry could feel Draco’s heartbeat, thudding wildly. He must have been scared out of his mind, the idiot.

“Why did you let her grab you?” Harry demanded, now almost out of the forest.

“I didn’t - umgh - let her, you idiot!” Draco hissed through gritted teeth, breathing hard.

“She was fine until you got all fussy,” He said, clinging tightly to Harry. “I should have anticipated that. The book said that most dragons prefer the night. The more light and sound, the more she’ll be on guard. Even if you could make friends with one of them the day of, they could still crush you by accident. So, we learned nothing. I’m sorry.” Draco looked down, his face burning. 

“I wouldn’t say we learned nothing ,” Harry started. “Now we know that you have a future as a dragon trainer.” 

“Ha!” Draco laughed, immediately wincing at the movement. “More like a dragon snack .”

He was tense as a rod, his teeth still clenched. “Does it hurt?” Harry asked awkwardly, now trying to jostle him as little as possible.

“Take a dive off your broom sometime and you can tell me,” Draco grunted.

Harry’s arms were starting to burn from the effort of hauling Draco, thankfully they were almost to the castle. They would have to put the cloak back on until they got upstairs.

“I can’t believe you’re not, crying or something.” Harry said. “If it’s really that bad.”

“I don’t cry,” Draco hissed as they walked up the castle stairs.

Chapter Text

“So, you’re telling me that you tripped in your common room at one in the morning, and started to crawl up to the hospital wing. You did this all in immense pain, not making a sound. Then you ran into Harry, who was using the bathroom outside Gryffindor Tower, for some reason? And he helped you the rest of the way.” Madame Pomfrey stared at them unamusedly, still in her bathrobe.

“Yes?” “That’s about it!” The two of them chorused. Draco was lying down on a cot, Harry fidgeting next to him. They had burst into the hospital wing a few minutes ago, after struggling across the grounds and up through the castle in the invisibility cloak.

Draco had insisted on taking his potion again before seeing Madame Pomfrey, refusing to be seen with his natural eyes. They had not thought through their excuse, shockingly enough.

“And why didn’t you call for help in your dormitory?” Madame Pomfrey asked, examining Draco’s leg.

“Um, I don’t like…to bother people.” Draco said. Harry nodded, as if this made perfect sense. Madame Pomfrey sighed, picking up her wand. She waved it over Draco’s leg, Harry saw him exhale in relief as the bones knitted themselves back together.

“Thank you so much,” Draco groaned, sitting up.

“Yes yes,” She tutted. “Now get back to bed, both of you.” She stomped back to her quarters, clearly eager to go back to sleep.

“I guess we should get back?” Harry asked, fiddling with his sleeve. “Guess so,” Draco nodded back.

***

Sneaking back into Slytherin proved to be frighteningly easy. Draco slipt back through the wall, dashing to his dormitory. He curled into bed, his mind swirling in circles, filled with the night’s events.

There had been something in the way Harry held him, dutifully carrying him across the grounds and up half a dozen flights of stairs, never once complaining. Harry could have left him in the forest, ran off to save himself when the Swedish Short-Snout first grabbed him. But he hadn’t. He’d stayed. Harry had saved him.

Well, first he endangered my life. THEN he saved me. But I suppose that’s just who Harry’s always been. He’d do anything for anyone. Even for me.

Draco nuzzled into his pillow, smiling. His mother never would have let him close enough to a dragon to risk getting hurt, and his father would have called a dragon expert to retrieve him in a second flat. His friends would have left him to be eaten. Draco had never dreamed that anyone would do such a thing for him. Something so brave…so selfless…not to mention mind numbingly bone-headed.

***

Since that night in the forest, something was changing in Harry. Draco Malfoy was so foolish, wasn’t he? Foolish and vulnerable.

Crabbe and Goyle were both gigantic, hulking, monsters crashing into things constantly like a pair of runaway trains. Draco was a delicate lily flower next to them, vulnerable to being stomped on at any moment. The rest of his Slytherin friends weren’t much better, big and muscled and dangerous.

Harry was watching said Slytherins, sitting with Hermione in charms. Professor Flitwick was having them take bags of small marbles off his shelves and practice summoning them. Hermione was trying to give him pointers, but he just couldn’t focus.

Instead he watched as Draco strained to grab a bag of marbles off one of the highest shelves, angling on his toes. “Urg,” he grunted, extending his fingers. He’s so small, Harry grinned, about to step over to help. But Goyle seized Draco around the waist, hefting him upwards. “Ack!” Draco called, “Put me down,” he growled, snagging the bag as Goyle dropped him back down to the floor.

“Thanks,” Draco said, his voice stilted, readjusting his robes. Harry turned back to Hermione, clenching his teeth.

Why does he let those idiots help him? He could ask me, right? I would have gotten the book for him…I’m taller than Goyle, after all. (He was not.) He flicked his wand rather aggressively, sending the marbles flying off the table in all directions. “Harry!” Hermione scolded. “Be careful.”

An hour later as the class was flooding out of the room, Harry caught sight of Crabbe and Goyle. As he watched, Crabbe tripped and fell into Draco, knocking him into the wall. Idiots, he frowned.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Hermione said, smiling at him warmly. Harry looked at her surprised, when, “You’ll get the hang of it in no time. Summoning is difficult.” Harry nodded in agreement, and they started down to lunch.

Didn’t those prats see that they could hurt Draco? Not to mention how much they sponged off him. Always copying his class work, asking him for things, all sorts of nonsense.

“ -Haven’t you ever noticed that? Why is he even friends with them?” Harry demanded.

“What are you talking about?” Hermione asked, blinking confusedly at him. “Nothing,” Harry sighed. “Oh, and could I see your notes later? I kept getting distracted during charms.” Hermione rolled her eyes as they entered the Great Hall.

Chapter Text

This new dynamic continued. For the first time ever they weren’t directly competing or avoiding one another. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were in a sort of uneasy alliance. Draco kept looking for something to help Harry with the first task, and they would occasionally meet to discuss these things. All these conversations were only a few minutes long,unfortunately. But somehow, a line had been crossed, a shift had occurred. And both boys were experiencing the aftershocks.
For Harry this came mostly in the form of wondering and watching. In between classes, eating in the Great Hall, looking over at him during class, Harry’s mind wandered.
He always knew Draco was a good student. But now Harry knew that he always kept his books perfectly organised, his notes even neater than Hermione’s. If he made a mistake, he would keep erasing and re-writing until it was satisfactory.
During tests the muscles in his mouth would tense, leaving him gnawing on his bottom lip until the last question was answered. Harry wondered what his hardest subjects were, how much time he spent studying.
He always knew Draco was vain, his hair polished and perfect. But he must have an entire trunk stuffed with perfume and jewellery. He somehow found a different colour scheme every other day that perfectly matched his Slytherin tie. How do you even do that?
He wore soft chokers that circled above his collarbone, shining gems, studs, or long cascading pieces hanging in his ears. He wore glittering bracelets or rings, they stood out against his white skin. He even wore long necklace pendants. Well, one pendant most of the time. It was small and silver, shaped like a cloud. Harry wondered how he dressed when he didn’t need to wear his school robes.
He always meant to ask, but forgot. Luckily for Harry, he would soon get a chance to see Draco in a way much closer than imagined.
***
At this time, Professor Moody is still preparing his students for fighting Dark Wizards. In Harry’s later years, occlumency and legilimency become very important. There are many spells and potions that use these practices that never get a mention in the original story. Mad-Eye Moody is now going to induce one of these spells, so his unfortunate students can practise guarding their minds from their classmates. You’ll find that some are…better at this than others.
***
“This is a battle of wills,” Mad-Eye grunted, limping around the room. “The more determined you are to find information, the more success you’ll have. But the other person probably doesn’t want you to have that knowledge, now do they?” He glared around the class.
“There’s a big trust component to it!” He continued. “This will work well when you're facing a dark wizard, seeing as you won’t trust them at all.” His magic eye swivelled around, the class tensed, waiting. “Let’s get started.”
***
“What’s this spell supposed to do, exactly?” Harry asked, whispering to Hermione.
“It’s putting them in a trance,” She replied. At that moment Lavender Brown was facing off with Pansy Parkinson. They were looking at one another, their eyes open but strangely…blank. As if they were asleep.
Moody had explained that it was a mutual attack, unlike when they would be facing off with a Death Eater. The spell opened up both their minds, and they were supposed to be sneaking into one another’s brains. But half the class had done it already, and no one had a lick of success.
“It’s to be expected,” Moody grunted, pulling Lavender and Pansy out of the spell. “To protect your own mind, you attack theirs. But none of you are very skilled yet, so you’re as good at attacking as you are defending.”
He shooed Pansy and Lavender back against the wall. “The result? Nothing.”
“This class is weird,” Lavender muttered, walking past Harry and Hermione to talk to Parvati Patil.
“Potter, Malfoy,” Moody grunted. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Harry stepped forward, Draco following. They stood facing one another in the centre of the room.
Harry was reminded of the duelling club two years ago. But then, Draco had been cocky and sly. Nothing like now. For one thing, Harry was taller than Draco now. And he wasn’t feeling that determination to beat him.
Harry only had a second to wonder what to expect before Moody flicked his wand, sending Harry and Draco into the trance.
He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. No one had been able to break into one another’s heads yet, so maybe nothing? He got much more than that, though.
The flashes came on suddenly, like someone was trying to show him as much as possible before time ran out.
He saw a small boy, little Draco, about five years old. His bright heterochromic eyes shining with tears, cowering in his father’s arms. Lucius Malfoy was yelling furiously at a crowd of other parents, swearing their children would pay.
The scene changed. Now Draco was seven, being ushered into a large room by his mother. She reassured him that nothing was wrong, his parents just had some business to attend to. Little Draco sucked his thumb, eyes wide, as she locked the door behind her. Little Draco darted over to the windows, looking down to see three cloaked people hurry into the house, heads down.
Then Draco was nine years old, his eyes grey, at a fabulous party. An elegant woman walked up, at least thirty. She stroked his face, her expression hungry. Draco inched away from her only to be immediately pulled back, never dropping his smile.
Then there was Lucius Malfoy again, after the party, telling young Draco that women would always adore him, describing how rude it was to refuse affections.
The scene shifted once more. Narcissa was there again, urging eleven year old Draco to climb aboard a boat with her and her friends, but he stood unmoving, his eyes glued to the water.
Finally there was Draco, in present form, clutching a book to his chest. Harry watched as he reached up, caressing it fondly.
There was a flash of light, and Harry was on the floor of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, Draco beside him. Draco was panting, his eyes wild.
“Well, that was unexpected.” Moody muttered, his eye spinning on Harry.

Chapter Text

“Which one of you won?” Moody demanded, limping forward. “Who did you see?”

Harry blinked, adjusting his glasses. “I think- ”

“I have to go!” Draco burst out, scrambling off the ground and taking off out the door.

“What happened?” Hermione asked, pulling Harry to his feet. “And what has gotten into Malfoy?”

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered, watching Draco run off. “I’ll be right back.”

“Harry- what-?” Hermione started, but Harry was already rushing after him.

Draco was fully sprinting down the corridor, almost tripping over his own feet. “Hey!” Harry called, running after him. “Slow down!” If Draco heard him (which he did) he completely ignored him. Harry gritted his teeth. Pouring forward, he was gaining on him. Draco slipped on the stones trying to turn a corner, and Harry seized the opportunity.

“Did you see what I saw?” Harry gasped, catching Draco’s arm, pulling him to a stop.

“Get off!” Draco said, not looking at him. He wrenched his arm back, but stilled after a moment. He was gasping for breath, finally sputtering out, “You saw what I saw, right?”

“I saw you,” Harry answered, releasing his arm. “Why did you run off?”

“Oh,” Draco blinked. “No reason. I- I just need to go.”

“Wait!” Harry snapped, stamping his foot. Not again!

“I’m really sorry, though,” Draco whispered. “I had no idea…you didn’t deserve any of that.” Harry drew back, confused. “Wait a minute. What did you-?” He started, but his question died off when he saw Draco’s face. He was flushed, his nose twitching. “I don’t cry,” Draco had said. Then why did it look like he was about to? Draco stepped back cautiously. When Harry didn’t move to pull him back, he darted down the corridor.

What was that about?

Harry stood there, trying to make sense of it all. Draco Malfoy, for the second time, fled to his dormitory. Overwhelmed by Harry Potter’s nonsense.

***

He slammed the door behind him, dropping his bag and flopping on to his bed. His head was spinning, overcome by what he had seen.

While Harry had seen Draco’s childhood, Draco had seen his. Ten years of muggles, of being hated and shoved to the side. He had seen Harry being the only brown child in a white neighbourhood. Everyone suspicious of him, no one in his life liking him.

Draco wrapped his arms around himself, feeling ill. I never knew… Who could treat anyone, a child, like that? What sort of evil possessed those people to lock Harry away, starving and overworking him, covering him with their hate? Draco had opened his eyes in the Defence against the Dark Arts room, horror banging in his veins. He wished he could reach back in time, find someone to lay waste to those muggles. They had to pay! Pay for what they did to Harry Potter.

He laid down, squeezing his eyes shut. He thought about Harry, living every day never having been loved properly. Never knowing what a family was. What would Draco do without his family? What would he be? Well, he would be nothing, he supposed. But Harry…he was the Boy Who Lived. The star of Gryffindor, the fourth Triwizard Champion. He had done alright, despite those truly maléfique people.

Draco’s heartbeat was slowing. Harry had been a miracle. Anyone else would have become angry and hateful in that house, wouldn't they? But Harry had become kind, and brave, glowing with goodness and virtue. Not to mention tall, with eyes like stars. And skin smooth, brown, and perfect. Harry was perfect. 

Draco’s heart was thrumming in his rib cage like a harp singing sweet songs. It was the same song he felt when he first saw quidditch legend Kieran Greenway, and that muggle actor Benadryl Cantaloupe. His blood was racing through his heart, his skin tingling and warm.

That wish for justice in Draco’s chest, the thrumming in his heart. It wasn’t right. Something toxic plunged into Draco’s chest. Oh, he breathed, Harry’s face shining in his head. This is bad. Draco did not want to feel like this again. Draco could not afford to feel like this again. He especially could not afford to feel like this for Harry -flipping- Potter.

These feelings, the fluttering in his chest, it was dangerous. And wrong. Why had he let this happen? But this time it was happening to a real person in Draco's life. How could he do this to Harry?

He was reminded of weaving small boats made out of grass, when he was a child in France. It was fun, he would sit down by the river and make them for hours. One day while he was distracted, he had set one down, not noticing it was swept away by the current until it had already shot halfway down the river.

Draco saw now that every moment he had spent with Harry Potter was another knot in his foolish grass boat. Every meeting, every word exchanged had woven this stupid boat. He should have stayed away from him! Draco should have ignored his instincts, doing what he knew was proper. So what if Harry didn’t put his name in the goblet of fire? So what if Harry needed his help? Now it was too late. Draco’s blood sang when he saw him, his skin dancing when Harry had carried him. The urge in his chest back in the classroom. He had so badly wanted to fling his arms around Harry, squeezing him so tightly that every horrible memory of those muggles was forgotten. You vile boy, he cursed himself. You know better.

Chapter Text

Harry was still in the Defence against the Dark Arts hallway.

After Draco took off Moody ended class. Harry went to lunch, confused as usual. He had seen Cedric Diggory leaving, and briefly pulled him aside to warn him about the First Task. As you know, the supposed Mad-Eye Moody took this opportunity to intercept Harry. Desperate for Harry to succeed, he suggests that he ‘play to his strengths.’ Harry becomes determined to learn the summoning charm so he can use his broomstick during the First Task.

In the first story, Harry only has Hermione to turn to. But in this version, someone else also enters into the equation. Harry runs to Draco for help, and the trance is forgotten between the two of them.

***

If they had been frantic before, it was rising to new heights of desperation. Draco had tackled the task of teaching Harry a summoning charm like his life depended on it. During preparation, you would have thought that Draco was being tortured.

“I’ve grabbed all the books I can,” Draco said, staggering into the room under an enormous pile of reading material. “Every trick, every tip for you to get this perfect.”

“Are you sure you’ve got all of those-?” Harry tried to ask, but Draco's foot caught on an uneven tile, and he promptly crumbled, the pile of books falling onto him as he crashed to the floor.

“Ow,” he moaned weakly.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, darting forward and heaving him to his feet. Draco nodded, wincing in discomfort.

“I guess I got too many books,” he said, fixing his tie, avoiding Harry's eyes.

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled, tilting Draco’s head, checking him for bruising. Draco froze before stepping back and bending down to pick up the scattered books. “I guess we’ve got some reading to do?” Harry asked.

“Correct, Potter.” Draco nodded, picking up the books. “Let’s get to work. You’ve got one week to learn this.”

***

Draco wished that he could vanish into the hills, stick his head in a cave and scream until every song that sung for Harry Potter had withered and died. But Harry had rushed up to him, the incident in Defence against the Dark Arts evidently forgotten. He had proclaimed that he’d done it- he’d cracked it- and he needed to learn a summoning charm.

Draco was supposed to say ‘no.’ He was supposed to throw something clever and barbed at him, before leaving swiftly. But before he could blink, Harry was grabbing his arm and they were running off somewhere quiet so Draco could help him practise.

You betê petit garçon.

Draco was hyper-aware of Harry, his every move sending him into bashful hysterics. The way Harry shook out his hair, how he tapped his fingers against the desk when he was trying to concentrate. How was someone so handsome? It wasn’t fair. Draco wondered if he could write something that could adequately express how great Harry looked.

Control yourself, Draco!

He shook his head forcefully. Wasn’t that what his father would say? To focus on the problem at hand, to control himself? He would tell Draco to act more honourable, more dignified, like a proper Malfoy. Not to waste his time wondering what Harry’s hair felt like. Not to lie awake, wishing he knew what Harry’s lips tasted like. Eating breakfast, wondering if Harry was ever going to think of him as a friend.

Well, at this point I think that Father would tell me to send Harry a good jinx. Draco sighed, looking over at the boy in question.

At this moment, Harry tried to summon a book off the table, only to have the cover smack him in the face.

C’est un vrai gaffeur, Draco stifled a laugh. He was allowed to admire him, right? That could be allowed? How much harm could Draco do by looking? He sighed dreamily, watching Harry try summoning again.

***

This is impossible, Harry grumped, rubbing his nose. Draco had been calling out tips, but he had gone quiet. Harry looked over at him.

“Why are you all red?” He asked, squinting at him. Draco’s usually snow-pale cheeks were tinted with pink, his expression dazed.

“Am I?” Draco asked. He straightened up, wiping his forehead. “I must just be a bit warm,” He shrugged hastily, his face red as a rosebush.

Warm, eh? Harry mused. Maybe he’s getting a fever. Without stopping to wonder if he should, Harry stepped over, reached across the table, pressing his hand against Draco’s forehead.

Draco froze, looking up at Harry. “…What are you doing?” He asked, his forehead feeling very warm indeed.

“Checking your temperature,” Harry said. “This is how muggles do it.” Hmm, Harry pondered. He does feel kind of hot. “Yeah, you might have a fever- ” He started. But Draco shot to his feet, jumping back from the table with a clatter.

“I should- um, I’d better nip over to the hospital wing then,” he stammered, shoving his things into his bag and running out at top speeds. Harry blinked. He must not be feeling very well.

***

Draco darted into the toilets, locking the door behind him. His heart was racing inside his chest, his face and neck flushing warmly.

WHAT WAS THAT. He gasped for breath, clutching his bag against his chest. Harry touched me. Harry touched me. HARRY touched ME!

Draco wiped his forehead, still feeling the echo of Harry’s fingers on his face. What was it he said? ‘This is how muggles do it’? Draco leaned against the door, silently thanking the Lord that Harry had been taught such things.

Draco was very cautious of germs, but he usually got colds around fall. All the cold and moisture in the air. Too bad it hadn’t happened this year. Maybe Harry would have checked him again, brushing his forehead. Maybe he would have brought him soup from the kitchens. Draco closed his eyes, imagining the salty taste on his lips as he kissed Harry in thanks… No. He stiffened. No. No. No. You’re not going to be that person. Harry doesn’t even think of you as a friend. The only reason he hangs around you is because you’re helping him with the first task!

Draco chewed his lip like toffee, forcing this philosophy into his head. Harry doesn't deserve this. You will act as someone helping him. Nothing more. No admiring, no watching, no daydreaming. He tugged on a piece of his hair, scratches building in the back of his throat. You’re…so gross. And he buried his face in his arms.

Chapter Text

Draco and Harry were outside, hidden in a thicket of trees somewhere on the grounds. They were practising summoning again, Harry was running out of time.

Harry had kept seeking out Draco for help. Hermione was doing all she could, but for some reason Draco was willing to skive off lessons to help Harry when Hermione wasn’t. Also, he didn’t chastise him for cursing.

Harry was summoning leafs from the branches overhead while Draco scribbled in a little book.

“What’s that?” Harry leaned over, trying to see what he was writing.

“Oh, it's nothing,” Draco rushed, slipping it into his bag. “Just a letter from my mum.”

He fished an envelope out of his pocket, handing it to him. Harry unfolded it, curious.

Petite Étoile,

I hope you are doing well. Your cousins send love from Antibes. Arctic and South Pacific got into a horrible brawl, there were feathers strewn all around the foyer! Your father is still dealing with all that nonsense left over from the World Cup, but he sends his love. I'm not going to be at the First Task, unfortunately. Our family needs me at home. But don't fret, I'll see you soon. I miss you, ma chère. Write to me if you have any problems.

All my love,

Maman

“What’s…‘pet-eeyt etoile-ey’ mean?” Harry asked, handing it back.

Draco giggled at his horrific pronunciation. “It means, ‘Little Star,’” he said. “My name, Draco, comes from a constellation.”

Oh, that’s cool. “Which constellation?”

“Draco.”

“Oh.” Harry blinked, I probably could have guessed that.

Draco covered his mouth with his hand, snickering.

“And who are Arctic and South Pacific?” Those are bizarre names.

“Our peacocks are named after the seven seas,” Draco shrugged. “They fight a lot.”

Peacocks, Harry rolled his eyes. Of course. Harry looked at Draco, something odd sweeping in his chest.

He had obviously never gotten a letter from his mother. Draco’s mum called him ‘little star.’ Harry wondered if his parents had any nicknames for him when they were alive. Did Draco get a lot of letters? Did he send a lot? Harry sat quietly, watching Draco as he shoved his book deeper into his bag.

It would be several hours later, in his dormitory when something hit him. Harry sat bolt upright, startling Crookshanks.

He realised that he had asked Draco what he had been writing, and Draco had instead distracted him with the letter. What’s he hiding?

Harry couldn’t explain it. He knew it was an invasion of privacy, but what if it was important? What if Draco was in danger? Someone could be blackmailing him! (That was a thing, right?)

Harry had to see what that book said.

***

The next day, in potions, Harry waited until he was distracted.

Draco was bent over his cauldron with Crabbe, intently timing the stirring cycle of their thickener.

Hermione was adding frog nails when Harry excused himself to go to the bathroom. Slipping by Draco, Harry leaned down, plucking the little book out of his bag. He tucked it into his robes, hurrying into the corridor before anyone saw. He paused in the hallway, drawing it out.

He realised it looked more like a diary, it was small and oddly shiny. He opened it to the most recent page he could find. He blinked, surprised. It was a poem, drawn in perfect Malfoy script.

The Storm of You.

The Storm is beauty, the storm is joy.

The Storm is blazing, and alive in the light. You hold oceans inside your heart

A coursing tide of skill and art I wade into the waves you show

From afar I see the Storm’s reflecting glow

Sunswept locks of midnight hair

Your eyes sparkling like gems so fair

Your greatness takes our world by Storm

Safe with you, protective and warm

The Storm’s glow

Calling my soul

My arms want to hold you close

To be the One you love the most.

But just like the clouds so high, The only way to reach you is to fly.

So I remain

Wishing it was not wrong for me to stay.

Harry sat back, stunned. This is beautiful. Draco had been writing love poems.

Harry flipped back, looking for more. They were all about some fantastic girl with sparkly eyes and dark hair. No wonder Draco didn't want me to know, Harry mused. He's embarassed. Or maybe this girl was wrong for him. Harry frowned, It would make sense for some girl to try and seduce him, he's rich. He would have to find out who she was. Maybe if he read more he would get a name.

Harry was looking down a page dedicated to this girl’s flying skills, (She must be a quidditch player,) when the book shuddered in his hands. It flew open to a new page, one with only a few lines scratched out.

Harry should have been used to magic by now, but it’s still startling to see a book tell you what to read. Harry examined the poem written there.

Unlike the others, it wasn’t carefully written. It had large, slashing marks etched into the page. The paper was crinkled, stained with tear drops. Harry looked down, his chest aching the more he read.

With eyes like old polluted creeks

Hair of lifeless twine

Pointless and soulless with nowhere to go.

With endless voids of sick white skin, If chicken feathers could talk and run in useless amok.

Small children moulding broken pieces together, to create the gangly thing before you.

No matter the effort,

You can’t hide what lies beneath.

Decent or horrid there is no in between,

So bear witness to the ugliest boy that you’ve ever seen.

Chapter Text

“What is up with you?” Hermione demanded. “You keep getting distracted!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry grumbled.

He hadn’t returned Draco’s diary the previous day, instead keeping it hidden in the bottom of his bag. After he had read that poem about the ugly boy he hadn’t dared open it again. ‘Lifeless’ hair, ‘polluted’ eyes? It was clear what Draco had been referencing. He was writing poems about Harry. Gangly? Ugly? It was so obvious! The one thing that confused him was why Draco had referred to his skin as ‘white.’ Harry wasn’t white.

Whatever, it’s just a pointless insult. Even though it felt sour, Harry had decided not to be hurt. There was no telling when Draco had written it, so Harry figured it wasn’t worth getting mad about. Also, then he would have to admit to Draco that he’d stolen his diary. There was no way that could go well. Harry had a sudden vision of Draco trying to hex him furiously, hurling insults and possibly various heavy objects.

Harry was more interested in those love poems, anyway, (Or so he told himself.) Who was that girl? Draco was practically in love with her. She must be in Slytherin, probably pure-blood, with dark hair and green eyes.

He was walking to herbology when Draco and his gang of Slytherins pranced by. Pansy Parkinson’s arm was wrapped around Draco’s. She was clinging to him like a snake surrounding a kitten. Draco’s muscles were clenched, he walked stilted down the corridor. Oh, Harry breathed, Of course.

Pansy Parkinson with her pug-shaped face. She had bright green eyes, with dark brown hair cut into a bob. Draco was tense, not looking at her. He must be nervous because he likes her so much. Harry frowned, they don’t need to be so obvious with that. He took out his wand, giving it an aggressive flick. Pansy Parkinson, startled by the jolt he had sent out, stumbled. Draco lept back from her, as she slipped to the ground, cursing in confusion.

Harry grinned, satisfied. No need for them to be all over each other in public.

***

Draco was home, in his garden. It was perfect as always, bursting with sweet smelling plants and chattering creatures. The willow trees’ branches flowed in the air, skimming the surface of the enormous pool. Flowers bloomed out of every corner, birds and bees flying leisurely through the air. Draco was lying in the grass, grey clouds passing overhead. He took a deep breath in, inhaling the scent of warm rain in the air.

“Hi, Malfoy,” A voice called. Draco turned in surprise.

“Harry?” He asked. “How did you get here?”

Harry shrugged, leaning against one of the willow trees. “Does it matter?”

“I guess not,” Draco answered, shifting in the grass. “What are you doing here?”

Harry pushed off the tree, walking toward Draco. “Isn’t it obvious?” He said, smiling hugely. “I’ve come to take you.” He settled down in the grass next to Draco, leaning in so close that Draco could see the few dark freckles that dotted his cheeks. Draco felt his cheeks getting warm, his eyes wide.

“Take me where?” He whispered cautiously. “Th-the village, maybe? Or-?”

“Don’t play,” Harry smirked. He reached out, grabbing Draco’s chin and tilting his face up. “I know you’ve been waiting for this.” Harry beamed, pulling him forward fast as a thrush. Draco letting out a startled yelp, crashing inside Harry’s warm embrace. In half a second, the two of them were tangled together in the grass. Draco blushed horribly, Harry’s hair tickling his face alone with the brush of the grass. Harry’s arms were wrapped around him, their legs entangled. Draco was breathing hard, locked inside his gaze. Harry placed his hands on Draco’s shoulders, pressing him carefully into the ground.

“I don’t care that you’re pale as death or thin as a rail,” Harry said, smiling down at him. “You’re mine now.” Harry reached forward, caressing his cheek, leaning in to kiss him.

***

Draco jolted awake. His heart was racing, he clutched at his sheets, covered in sweat. What was that? He smashed his face into his pillow, burning hot as a fireplace. He had been dreaming. Dreaming about Harry.

Harry kissing him, touching him, like he didn’t hate him at all. Draco, you…disgusting thing. He clenched his fists, cursing his mind for wanting something so…wrong. If Harry knew about this…but he pushed that thought away, not able to bear it.

It was bad enough that Draco was like this, but he couldn’t drag Harry into it! Draco rummaged down in his dresser, reaching for his journal. He had to get this out of his system. Maybe writing it down would help, that's what he'd been doing lately. But his hands closed around empty air.

What in the world? Where’s my book?

He had thought it was in his school bag, but it hadn’t been there last night, meaning it had to be in his dresser drawer. Whatever, I’ll find it later. He sighed, folding back into his bed.

Draco continued on with his day, eventually finding that his journal had fallen behind his desk in History of Magic. (Thank goodness.) He took notes, focused best he could, but none of it worked. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get that dream out of his head.

How it felt to be touched, to be held. How his heart had raced when Dream-Harry looked at him with such affection. Dream-Harry didn’t care how grossly thin Draco was. He didn’t mind that Draco wasn’t half as brilliant as his family, that he was just a stupid little boy with pointless dreams. Dream-Harry had seen past all his flaws. Dream-Harry saw him as someone worth having.

But that’s all it was, after all. A dream. And dreams are not reality. Why can’t I be normal, he sniffed, wishing he hadn’t loved that dream as much as he had.

Chapter Text

Harry and Hermione were eating lunch in the Great Hall. It was Wednesday, the last day before the first task. Harry liked to think that he was ready for tomorrow, but Hermione was leaving him by himself for the afternoon. (She refused to skive off Arithmancy.) Ron still refused to speak to him. Harry wished he had a girlfriend he could ask to help him, but he had already asked Draco for help him instead.

Harry chewed his sandwich, thinking. If there was a girl like Draco, Harry would definitely ask her out. (Well, he would try, at least.) He looked over at the Ravenclaw table, where Cho Chang was sitting. She was very pretty, it was true. And Harry always seemed to embarrass himself around her. wonder what she’s thinking. Is she rooting for Cedric? Or me? Maybe both of us? Harry wondered. Draco is so up-front about these things. Too bad she doesn’t act a thing like him. Harry smiled at the thought. She really is pretty, though.

Lunch ended and he walked out of the Great Hall, splitting off from Hermione. He was meeting Draco upstairs. Harry had made it to the second floor corridor when he saw Cho in front of him with her gaggle of friends.

Maybe I should say hi.

Harry opened his mouth, when he heard some scuffling behind him. Harry turned back as Cho vanished around the corner.

One of the Durmstrang girls was walking down the hall, closely following Draco Malfoy. She was practically breathing on him, murmuring in his ear. Draco smiled tensely, nodding to her, but kept increasing his pace. Something was bothering Harry immensely. Draco always had girls buzzing around him, but this girl was at least seventeen! Draco was fourteen, and he had a girlfriend, didn’t he?

A memory rang in the back of Harry’s head. When they had entered the trance in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry had seen Draco at that one party. Lucius Malfoy had told him something about this. What was it exactly? ‘“It’s not the fault of a young woman that you are so tantalising,”’ Harry scowled, realising that Draco wasn’t going to be able to get rid of her on his own.

The Durmstrang girl reached out, brushing Draco’s hair with her hand. Nope, Harry glowered. Time to get off him. He strode over, Draco looked up in surprise. “Harry, what are you-?” The Durmstrang girl didn’t notice him, still feeling Draco’s hair.

“Hands off, would you?” He snapped, yanking Draco away from her. “He’s not interested, there’s no need to act so creepy,” Harry growled, pinning Draco against his side.

“Creepy?” The girl scoffed. “You’re the one who barged in on our conversation.” She looked pointedly at Draco, expecting him to agree with her. But he stood frozen, staring at the ground. “Yeah, sure,” Harry said sarcastically. “Conversations totally mean one person following the other for no reason,” Harry's arm was still firmly around Draco. “Honestly, just go away.”

The girl rolled her eyes, finally turning on her heel and stomping away. Harry eased back from Draco, taking his arm off him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Draco hurried, smoothing out his robes, his cheeks blushing a shade of rose. “I was about to tell her off, didn’t want to be rude-”

Harry frowned, cutting him off. “It’s hardly rude to tell her to get away!” Draco twirled a strand of hair in his fingers, nibbling his lip. His usual haughty expression was cracking, revealing something almost embarrassed hiding beneath.

“I suppose,” He shrugged, but Harry could tell he wasn’t likely to defend himself if it happened again.

“Won’t your girlfriend get upset if she thinks you’re letting another girl flirt with you?” Harry said. Draco whirled on him, eyes wide in alarm.

“I don’t have a girlfriend!” He gasped in shock, mouth hanging open. 

"You don’t?” Harry tilted his head. “Aren’t you dating Pansy Parkinson?”

“No!” Draco yelped, clutching his bag so hard his knuckles went pink. “Where did you get that idea, Potter?” He demanded. “Pansy is just- affectionate! With her friends!” He huffed, tossing his head to the side in a final sort of way.

Someone should be looking after you, Harry glowered. How often did this happen? How had Harry never seen this before? Everyone who crowded around him like flies, accidentally smashing him into walls. Creepy girls trying to brush his hair, Pansy clinging to him like the giant squid. Harry did wonder later why Draco had been blushing so much, but he was relieved that he wasn’t dating Pansy. Harry didn’t like the way she looked at him. While Harry wanted to know who he was interested in, the clock was ticking on the First Task.

***

On the other side of things, Draco had decided that he would continue helping Harry until the task was over, then cut him off entirely. Draco couldn’t get away with dreaming about Harry. Once he could get some distance, surely the dreams would stop. Right? That was what he thought.

“Ready to help me practise the summoning charm?” Harry asked.

“Oh, of course,” Draco nodded, shouldering his bag. “But where do we go? Everyone is still in class.”

“We can go to Gryffindor tower, no one is there right now!” Harry exclaimed.

A shiver ran up Draco’s spine. He had no idea where Gryffindor Tower was. Could he actually go? No one had told him that he wasn’t allowed in other common rooms, but it must be a rule- right? He told Harry as much. Harry merely raised an eyebrow at him.

“Tomorrow morning, I’m going to be face to face with a real, fire breathing dragon. You’re allowed.”

“...Can’t argue with that,” Draco nodded, following Harry up the stairs.

Chapter Text

Draco couldn’t believe how warm gryffindor was. Red and gold usually distressed him, (it was horribly bright.) But Gryffindor’s common room was soft. It was the colour of firelight, or sunrises, instead of the colours that flashed behind your eyes when you fell down a flight of stairs.

And not a single speck of water, Draco smiled, satisfied.

They set their bags down against one of the walls, Harry tossed Draco a throw pillow from one of the couches.

“You ready?”

“Of course.”

“You know, it’s too bad that we can’t use magic at home,” Draco muttered, as the pillow flew across the room. “This would help with some prats I used to know,” he mumbled.

“What prats?” Harry asked. Draco didn't realise that he'd heard that. Draco shifted uncomfortably, biting his lip. He looked up at Harry’s eyes, ready with a comeback to shut him up. But something cracked in Draco’s reserve, a rosebud breaking up through the stone. You're my weak spot something terrible, Draco thought. Harry looked so curious, so invested, even concerned. The flowers in Draco’s chest sang again, and this time he listened. 

“I used to get teased something dreadful,” he whispered. No one was allowed to know that, not usually. Do you know what kind of people are teased? Draco did. (Or he thought he did.) Weak people get teased. Embarrassing people. People that Draco Malfoy could not afford to be.

“Me too, actually. Before Hogwarts.” Harry said, tossing the pillow back to Draco, ready to try again.

“I can’t imagine anyone ever teasing you,” Draco snapped, bewildered. Who would tease THE Harry Potter?

“You’ve been making fun of me since the day we met!” Harry laughed, pointing his wand at Draco with mock accusation.

“I mean besides me,” Draco rolled his eyes playfully. “What did they tease you for?” 

“You tell me first!” Harry smirked. “You know all of my stupid stuff, why can’t I know some of yours?” He smiled sideways at Draco. Harry looked at him with that face, those eyes, Draco wanted so badly to make him happy.

“I wouldn’t say I know everything” he said curtly. “-But if you really wanna know, there were a bunch of kids that used to poke fun at me in my neighbourhood. They moved away though. Eventually.” Harry tilted his head, as if sliding pieces together in his brain.

“What did they tease you for?”

“Looking like me.” Draco had to shut up. Harry already knew all this, didn't he? Why was he making it so obvious? But the words kept tumbling out of his mouth.

“What else would they tease me for? I’m pale as a corpse, my eyes are completely alien, I’m thin and disgusting. You know how kids can be,” Draco bit down on his tongue, his face burning. Stupid boy! Idiotic cretin!

“I don’t think you’re gross,” Harry shrugged. And the flowers in Draco sang that much louder.

***

They kept practising from there as if nothing had been said. Harry didn't understand why Draco was acting so odd. Was he okay?

From there they transitioned to bigger and bigger items. From the pillow, to an ornament that was lying around, and eventually to their textbooks.

“You ready?” Draco asked, clutching their transfiguration book. Harry nodded again, pointing his wand at it. Unfortunately, Harry’s brain was less on task. Did Draco really think that he was disgusting? Like that poem he’d written about Harry? Draco was so pretty.

His skin looked like vanilla custard, the kind that melted on your tongue. His eyes, (his real eyes) looked like stained glass windows. He was a living ice sculpture, his jewellery sparkling against his porcelain skin. Harry had noticed he kept wearing the same necklace lately, he wanted to know why.

But right now! He was summoning the transfiguration book! Right! That necklace really is pretty, though. I bet it would look so cool against his real eyes. “Accio!” Harry shouted. But to his shock, Draco Malfoy was the one that came zooming across the room, dropping the book with a shriek of surprise, crashing into Harry and knocking them both to the rug.

Draco landed flat on top of him, his nose almost colliding against Harry’s. “Ow!” Someone yelled. (It could have been either of them.) Harry felt something cold in his palm, Draco’s necklace had flown into his hand, still very much fastened around Draco’s neck.

Harry released it immediately, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “How the bloody hell did that happen?” Draco snapped, trying to crawl off Harry. But his hand slipped, and his face crashed back onto Harry’s chest.

“Ouch, sorry, Harry,” he grumbled, trying to get his bearings. But Harry laid there, frozen. He could feel Draco’s breath on his face, he smelled like mint. Harry could reach out a single inch and brush his hand over his face, fiddle with his ear, caress every piece of Draco’s skin. Draco’s lips were a whisper away from Harry’s. His lips were a soft red, and littered with little nicks from when he would bite them.

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away. What should he do? Well, he could lean in, maybe. That sounded pretty good.

“Um. Potter?” Draco asked, startling Harry’s train of thought. “Could you let me up?”

“What?” Harry blinked. “Oh! Sorry.” He had apparently thrown his arms around Draco when they crashed together, and Draco was pinned under his grip. “Sorry ‘bout that…Didn’t realise…” Harry trailed off. The two of them scrambled back to a standing position.

“Do you…want, to keep practising?” Draco asked hesitantly, looking everywhere but at Harry.

“Yeah, let’s try again.” Harry nodded, repointing his wand at the spellbook, concentrating so hard on it that he might have summoned it without ever waving his wand.

***

They kept at it for a bit longer, until they decided to call it for the night. But Draco lingered by the portrait hole, still chewing his lips. 

“Harry,” He muttered. “Um. I sort of have something for you.”

“Really? What is it?” Harry walked toward him, intrigued.

“Here,” Draco reached into his bag, drawing something out and handing it to him.

“A cross?” Harry asked, taking it in his hand. It was shining and golden, studded with small gems, but clearly very old. The entire thing fit in the palm of his hand. “What’s this?” Harry asked, examining it closely. Didn't see that coming.

“It’s a good luck charm of sorts,” Draco said. “I got it from an antiques shop in France a few years ago. It’s the only muggle piece I own.”

“Why do you have it, though?” Harry asked, turning it over in his hands. “Are you religious?” That would be unexpected.

“Not exactly,” Draco rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t belong to a church yet or anything, but I’ve always known there was…something.”

“That’s why you have it?” Harry asked. That was so endearing. It didn’t quite make sense, but that’s how Draco made it seem. Adorable, even.

“Yeah,” Draco smiled. “A muggle made it, sometime in the fifties, I think.” He reached out, brushing it lovingly with his hand.

“Muggles don’t know anything about magic, but they still believe in something so powerful, and loving, and good. So… yeah.” Draco was beaming. Realising what he was saying, a tinge of pink crept into his cheeks. He drew his hand back awkwardly, averting his eyes.

Harry looked down at the cross. “So, you’re…giving this to me?” 

“Yes, just for the task, though!” Draco insisted. “Afterwards I want it back,” he crossed his arms, looking sternly at Harry.

“Of course,” Harry chuckled. He grinned at Draco, something tingling at the back of his throat. He reached out, not sure why, when-

“Mince alors!” Draco burst out suddenly, seeing his watch.

Was that French? Harry stared at him delightedly. It must have been.

Draco darted to the wall, grabbing his bag. “See you tomorrow! Good luck!” He called, dashing out the portrait hole. Harry stood there for a long moment, his blood humming in his ears, Draco’s cross still in his hand.

Chapter Text

Harry woke up the next morning in a very odd state indeed. He was terrified for the task ahead, his brain seemingly full of fuzz. He had slept clutching Draco’s cross, imagining that Draco was giving him good luck with every touch.

He wandered down to the Great Hall, and after Hermione berated him into some breakfast, they set off toward the first task. They were making their way across the grounds, when Harry heard a noise to the side. Someone was waving him over from the buildings that housed the quidditch changing rooms.

A pale hand was beckoning to him, a blue bracelet sparkling on a very thin wrist.

“Harry!” Draco hissed, gesturing frantically. Harry mouthed “hold on!” At him, turning to Hermione. He told her he should go to the champions’ tent alone, muttering excuses. She wished him luck one last time, before disappearing into the stands.

“What is it?” Harry crept over, Draco pulled him out of sight and into the locker room.

“You can’t go out there like this,” Draco insisted, rifling through the lockers lining the room.

“What are you doing?”

“Fixing you,” Draco popped open Harry’s locker, withdrawing his quidditch robes. “Here,” he tossed them to Harry. “Put these on.” His stomach churning, Harry started pulling them over his head. “You can’t go out there like a ragamuffin- ACK!” Draco shrieked, having caught sight of Harry mid-change. “Give me some warning, would you?” He demanded, whirling back around to face the lockers.

Harry rolled his eyes, his cheeks flushing. Do I look that bad?

“You’re safe,” Harry grunted after a minute, now in his quidditch robes. Draco strode back over to him, his face determined. Draco started ruffling his robes, adjusting buttons and folding Harry’s sleeves up, revealing more of his arms. “What are you doing?” Harry asked as Draco plucked off his glasses. “What I do best,” Draco replied, polishing his glasses. “Making you look respectable.” He slid the glasses back on Harry’s face.

“How are you feeling?” Draco asked, circling him critically.

“Nauseous, mostly.”

Draco let out a dry laugh. “Fair enough. Are you ready?” He leaned close, trying to fix Harry’s hair.

“I hope so,” Harry started, ignoring the sensation of Draco Malfoy's hands in his hair. “It’s just a dragon. What can go wrong?”

Draco grimaced, frustrated. “My hair really doesn’t do anything else,” Harry said, hoping Draco would stop. It was a bit distracting.

“No, your hair is lovely as is,” Draco tutted. “You’ve just got some dead leaves in it.” He said, brushing the last of them out of Harry’s hair. He drew back, now satisfied with Harry’s look. His jaw was set and hard, his face tensed in concern.

“They’ll have stunning spells at the ready.” He insisted. “You won’t be in any real danger. They’ll protect you.”

“You sound nervous,” Harry said, studying the grey in Draco’s eyes. Draco let out a breath, not breaking eye contact.

“I’m terrified for you,” he whispered, biting his lip again.

Harry resisted the urge to tap his lips, make him stop. His mouth is going to start bleeding soon. “I’ve got an advantage,” Harry said, pulling Draco’s cross out of his pocket with a wink.

“Still.” Draco grunted. “You be careful.” Something was turning over in Harry’s chest, but it wasn’t fear of the task ahead. Draco was trying to look stern and commanding, but Harry could see his fear in the way he stood. His stomach was fluttering, looking at him.

Harry was about to fight a dragon, but in this moment, Draco was with him, and Harry was commanding all his focus. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he did know that he had to say something. Something to keep Draco’s attention, something that would make his heart flutter like it did last night. Just… something.

“If I finish the task-” he started.

“Not if, Potter!” Draco pointed at him scoldingly, his lip trembling. “When you finish.”

“Fine,” Harry amended, afraid he would lose his nerve. “When I finish the task, can you do something for me?”

Draco nodded, “What do you need?”

I don’t know anymore.

Harry reached out carefully, pulling him into a hug like he could shatter at any moment. Draco was pulled to Harry’s chest, surprised, before flinging his arms around him. Harry inhaled deeply, Draco clinging to him. He still smelled minty, just like the night before. Harry wanted to squeeze him tighter, but he could only imagine how delicate Draco’s bones were. What if Harry clutched him so close he broke?

“Can we meet up after?” Harry whispered. Draco nodded. “And thanks for the cross.”

“Of course,” Draco nodded. Harry’s hand rose up, brushing Draco’s cheek with his fingers. He was cold to the touch, like a snowflake.

“What are you doing?” Draco said, blood rising in his face, blushing horribly.

“Nothing,” Harry rushed, jerking his hands away. “Well…good luck then, Potter.” And he vanished out of the locker room, dashing back to the stands to watch with the rest of the school.

Harry stumbled out, walking to the Champion’s tent, his anxiety soaring, his heart pounding.

What am I going to do?

Chapter Text

Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest. The overlords of luck were probably laughing on the floor, and Harry was going to be fighting the Hungarian Horntail.

Depending on how you consume media, the dragon fight was either a flying spectacle or a wild chase around Hogwarts’s roofs for a bizarre amount of time. But however you remember it, Harry will prevail. His desperate practice pays off, and he is able to summon his Firebolt. But before this was common knowledge, when the task was still going on, several things happened in the stands below.

Ron Weasley was feeling quite sick, wishing that he had said anything encouraging to Harry. He rambled on about this while watching the other champions best the dragons, greatly trying Hermione’s patience. After about twenty minutes of this Hermione finally lost her temper, (as she is known to do), and shrieked in frustration against the roar of the crowd.

“Who do you think you are?” She demanded, Ron jumped in surprise. “Harry didn’t do anything to you!” She shrieked, eyes blazing. “You’ve been awful to him for weeks!” She was pointing her finger aggressively at him, scolding him with red eyes. “It’s not his fault that his name came out of the goblet! He didn’t want to be in the tournament! He could die, did you ever think of that?” And she burst into tears once more.

Ron stood awkwardly beside her before reaching out to pat her back cautiously. (He’s smooth like that.) He watched in silence as Harry came out of the Champion’s tent.

***

“Draco, are you alright?” Pansy asked, tapping his shoulder.

Draco jumped, before assuring her he was fine, just cold. He was glued in his seat, trembling. His friends were gathered around, cheering in delight.

Usually Draco loved events like this. The atmosphere of excitement, the roar of the crowd, just like in Quidditch. But he sat, not standing at all, every muscle in his body clenched in fright. His eyes were fixed on Harry, his heart thudding painfully with every move he made.

He remembered the night they had tried to befriend the dragons, and how horribly wrong that went. Those beasts were impossibly strong, made of blades and pure danger.

He’ll be fine. The ministry will protect him.

Harry zipped upwards in the air, the crowd gasped as he narrowly dodged a slash from the dragon’s spiky tail.

He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine.

The Hungarian horntail thrashed its tail again, but Harry didn’t dodge in time. A chorus of shrieks sounded, Draco saw a spurt of blood coming from Harry’s arm. He clutched his chest, eyes wide.

HE’S FINE. HE’S FINE. HE’S FINE.

The dragon spread her wings, lunging for him. Harry dove like a hawk, dashing underneath her like a comet. Draco stifled a shriek, before Harry’s hand closed around the gold egg, and the stands exploded with noise.

Draco’s friends started booing loudly, jeering at Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors. There were several grumblings about Harry not losing 'even a few fingers.’ Draco let out an enormous breath of relief, burying his face in his hands.

Harry had done it, he was alive. The cross had worked.

Thank you, Lord.

***

Harry was at his peak. He had gotten his golden egg, and not just that, Ron had finally come around! After receiving his score from the Triwizard judges and chasing off Rita Skeeter, a group of rowdy Gryffindors crowded around him and his friends. They were already starting an enormous celebration that would doubtlessly continue into the night. But Harry had something to take care of first. Something delicate, white, and very pretty.

Harry started yammering on about something vital that he’d left behind, reassuring them that he’d catch up. His fellow Gryffindor’s finally agreed after a few minutes, and he took off toward the Quidditch locker rooms.

He ducked inside, vanishing inside with the smallest flick of the tent flaps.

Sure enough, Draco was standing next to the lockers, waiting. His lips were soft and perfect, just like the rest of him. Apparently he had used his chapstick, since Harry doubted that he had managed to stop biting himself during the task.

He was standing perfectly still, like a prince waiting for the palace guards to escort him back to his tower. Harry smiled, waving to him. Draco’s head shot up, his face alight with excitement.

“You did it!” He exclaimed, dashing over to Harry.

“That was brilliant! The horntail was about to grab you, and it- You-! ” He let out a long breath, grinning. “That was fantastic.”

He threw his arms around Harry, squeezing him tight. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He was about to hug him back when Draco hurriedly stepped back, embarrassed. Harry smiled at his pink face, realising that he could look at Draco forever.

Harry felt like he was bursting with light and triumph. He had beaten the horntail, nothing could go wrong, anything could happen.

Harry's grip on his broom loosened, he heard it clatter to the ground. “Malfoy,” He said, “Remember when I asked you to do something for me?" He stepped closer, Draco nodding slowly.

"I should have said that there’s something I need to do.” Draco’s eyes widened as Harry leaned forward. His hands encircled Draco’s waist, pulling him in, his lips meeting Draco’s like a dragonfly landing on a rose.

Chapter Text

Draco gasped, leaning into him.

Something roared in Harry’s gut, and he seized him around the waist. Draco’s body shivered under his touch, kissing Harry as if he was cursed and the only cure was his lips. Harry knew he should be gentle, be careful, but he couldn’t help himself. His hands clutched at Draco’s waist, holding him against himself. Draco let out a little whisper, or a gasp, his mouth opening against Harry’s. Harry’s lips parted too, and now Draco was murmuring imagined phrases into his mouth, his arms wrapped around Harry’s neck. Harry wanted more. More of him, right then. He wanted to stay with him until the sun collapsed, with Draco pretty and perfect in his arms. Still clutching Draco, he moved a step forward, feeling for the table behind them.

He wordlessly lifted him up, setting him on top.

“Mmm- what are you doing-?” Draco mumbled against him.

“Is this okay?” Harry asked, still kissing him.

“Yeah, it- it’s okay,” Draco nodded, his legs brushing against Harry’s waist. He shivered with warmth. Every kiss, every move Draco made, was setting his heart alight. He wanted to kiss him all over, treasure him to perfection. Harry was flying again, but with a thrill like nothing he’d ever felt before. Draco was so, so beautiful, he tasted like mint and...mmh...vanilla. Harry clutched him tightly, enjoying the view and the feel of Draco Malfoy so pretty and vulnerable, propped up on the desk and kissing Harry.

After a long few minutes, Draco pulled back, gasping slightly with wide eyes. Harry resisted the urge to lean back into him, “Je t’ai embrassé,” Draco breathed, staring at him in disbelief. “I kissed you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Harry smiled mischievously. “I would say that I kissed you.”

Draco let out an irritated snort, flopping his head onto Harry’s shoulder. “You’re insufferable,” He snapped. “Why do you always have to win?”

Harry grinned, about to answer, when he heard the sound of several happy people walking outside.

Draco jumped at the sound of their voices, looking at the door in panic. “Get off- quick!” Draco hissed, shoving Harry back. He scrambled off the table frantically, stumbling to the ground with the grace of a dying cat. Harry jumped back, hands in the air.

“What’s happened?” Harry asked, looking him up and down. “Are you alright?”

Draco was fidgeting nervously, avoiding Harry’s gaze. “Je ne- they can’t, I-” He was stuttering horribly, wringing his hands.

“It’s alright,” Harry assured him. “I get it.” He must be self-conscious.

“I need to go,” He choked out, biting his lip. The same lips I just kissed… Draco started toward the tent’s entrance. Harry reached out, gently catching his hand and stopping him in place.

“Can I see you tonight?” Harry asked, not letting go of his hand. Draco briefly nibbled his lip, before nodding slowly.

“What time?” Harry smiled again, sneaking Draco a kiss on his cheek. “I can be outside your common room at 8:00. Meet you then?” Draco nodded, eyes wide.

“Wait- how do you know where our common room is?”

“I’ll tell you later!” Harry called. He ducked out the tent flap, joy rushing in his bones.

***

Have you ever been in the locker room after a muggle football game? Where the team has suffered a bad loss and everyone is scrambling to salvage their pride? Everyone’s sour and tired, and no matter how much people insist that it’s fine, they don’t care, everything feels spoiled. If you have been in one of those situations, you’ll know what mood Pansy Parkinson was in after the First Task.

Never mind the fact that Cedric Diggory had also pulled through, what mattered was that Harry Potter hadn’t gone down in literal flames. Everyone was camped out in Draco’s dormitory, sprawled across the rugs. While the room was usually empty at this time, Draco was joined by a number of his friends. Pansy was storming back and forth, dramatically listing all the things that had gone wrong. Such behavior was standard for this group, but usually Draco was the one spitting out insults like a cat. Now he sat quietly on his bed, scarcely breathing a word, so Pansy had taken over his important duty of berating Harry Potter.

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised, flying is the only thing he’s good at.” Zabini shrugged, flipping lazily through his book.

Draco almost choked out a laugh, Zabini had no idea how much Harry himself agreed with that statement. Draco nodded absent-mindedly, his head buzzing.

***

While Draco was enjoying his Gay Panic, Gryffindor’s celebration that night met every expectation. Fred and George appeared after about twenty minutes in, their arms loaded with food and sweets. Harry and Ron were finally reunited, and they quickly made up for lost time.

Everyone was in a great mood. But no one was in higher spirits than Harry, who was already planning his meeting with Draco later that night. After a few hours, Harry managed to slip away. He crept down the stairs, covered in the invisibility cloak.

Surely they won’t miss me for a little while…

He wasn’t sure if he was exceptionally lucky not to run into anyone, or if he just didn’t notice anybody in his haste. He finally reached the dungeons, brimming with eagerness. As much as he enjoyed celebrating with the Gryffindors, he hadn’t been able to get Draco out of his head.

Harry waited impatiently, his eyes fixed on the wall that was not as innocent as it looked. Draco finally emerged, a green jumper thrown over his pyjamas. Harry, still invisible, grabbed his hand. Draco yelped in surprise, clapping a hand over his own mouth. Harry grinned, pulling him down the corridor, into an empty dungeon.

“Took you long enough,” Harry breathed, shrugging off the cloak and letting it fall to the floor. “I missed you.”

“It’s been less than 12 hours,” Draco said, blinking at him in surprise.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry groaned, beaming at him. He reached out, his skin tingling, ready to kiss Draco just like he had before.

“Harry, wait- no.” Draco murmured, pulling back. “We can’t.”

Chapter Text

“What? What’s wrong?” Harry asked, taken aback.

“We can’t- I can’t,” Draco repeated, his voice desperate and defeated.

Harry squinted, wishing he could see him properly in the dark. “Why not?” Harry demanded.

“It’s too dangerous,” Draco said, stepping back. “You don’t understand.”

"So explain it to me!” Harry cried, blood rushing to his cheeks. “It was a mistake to get close to you,” Draco murmured, staring at his feet. Harry drew back, stung.

“I was so foolish, Harry!” Draco exclaimed. “I- I did this to you, I know. I’m sorry. I thought. . . I can’t do this.” He hung his head. Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He stepped away in shock, snatching his cloak off the ground and storming out. “Figures, Malfoy,” He snarled, cheeks flushing. He stormed back to the door, fury and disbelief coursing in his blood.

“I can’t believe I fell for your rubbish!” He gasped, his heart thudding.

“Harry, wait!” Draco called, darting after him.

“All those times you helped me practise?” Harry hissed, his head spinning. “Those stories you told me? All of us spending time together? Your stupid good luck charm? Our kiss?” Harry’s face was burning. “You were just playing with me,” He hissed, whirling around to face him again. “What were you hoping to get? A quick laugh?” Draco opened his mouth, but Harry cut him off again, his hand diving into his pocket. “And take your stupid thing!” He growled, his fingers closing around Draco’s cross and flinging it past him. It hit the ground with a soft tink!

Harry kept storming down the corridor, ignoring the sting in his chest when he saw Draco’s shattered expression. “Don’t ever come near me again,” He breathed, tears stinging the corner of his eyes.

Draco knelt down, picking up the cross. He looked up at Harry, his eyes wide. “Oh, please don’t cry,” Draco whispered, but his lip was trembling too. He stepped forward, wiping Harry’s eyes with his thumb. Harry clenched his teeth, wishing he had the strength to shove Draco away, to hurt him the way he was hurting. “You’re getting this all wrong,” Draco murmured, pressing their foreheads together.

“Oh, come off it,” Harry whispered. “Stop pretending.”

Draco tipped his face up, his hand still on Harry’s cheek. Harry noticed that his eyes weren’t grey right then, but shining gold and blue. “Do you really think I don’t want you?” Draco said, not letting him go. Harry looked down at him, his heart dancing in his chest. Draco kept talking, his voice rising despite them being inches apart.

“You really believe that I don’t lie awake thinking about you, wondering if you’re thinking about me? You think that every time you touch me I’m not hoping the moment lasts forever? Because I am. I do.” His face was tortured, his words hitting the air and hanging between the two of them. Harry clasped his hand over Draco’s, opening his mouth, when Draco spoke again, his voice shaking. “-But I know how this works. My family…the school…the second they sense this, they smell blood in the water. They will destroy the both of us. And I can’t let them do that to you. I’m rotten, but it’s not too late for you.”

Draco’s hands fell to his sides, his frame crumpling. “Besides. If we start, if we try, these things never last. And I don’t want to have to survive that. I’m so sorry.” He whispered, stepping back. The fury in Harry’s chest had dissipated. Melting away like chocolate in the sun, being replaced by a growing sense of guilt. He pulled Draco close, clutching him against himself, just like he’d done before.

“Maybe I don’t care if they try to hurt me,” Harry snarled. “I beat Lord Voldemort twice! Maybe, I want to be with you. Maybe it doesn't matter to me what everyone else thinks.”

“You can do anything,” Draco mumbled. “Have anyone. I’m…just me.” Harry stared at him in disbelief.

“You are brilliant, Draco,” He insisted. “If anyone tries to come for us, I’ll protect you. I never realised how much I wanted you until now!” Harry said. “And now that I know…I'm not letting you go without a fight.” He loosened his grip on Draco’s hand, looking down at him. “It’s your choice, though.”

"I'm sorry, Harry." Draco whimpered, stepping back. "It's not worth it." And he walked back into Slytherin's common room, leaving Harry Potter alone in the hall. Draco ignored the sound of his heart breaking inside him, waiting for the wall to close behind him before he let himself cry.

Chapter Text

“And then, right when things were settled, everything was lovely, he dismisses it like nothing ever mattered! The stupid, foolish, git!” Harry punctuated this last bit by slamming his fist onto his desk, glowering. 

The rest of the History of Magic class stared at him, lost for words. Professor Binns blinked in bewilderment, turning back to his cards. It was the most emotion he had displayed in several months.

“While I appreciate your…passion,” Professor Binns murmured, “A more appropriate answer would be ‘arguments between the respective goblin unions interrupted negotiations.’” 

Harry sank back into his seat, ruffling his hair in embarrassment. 

He sneaked a look over at Draco, who was frustratingly scratching out the same sentence over and over. Sensing Harry's gaze he looked up, meeting his eyes in annoyance. “What was that?” He mouthed.

“Shut up!” Harry mouthed back, his face hot.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first incident since the first task. Harry had first tried to send Draco flowers, which had been given back without a word. He wrote him notes, asking to meet, but Draco didn’t open any of them. Harry tried to confront him, but Draco kept a wall of Slytherins around him at all times. He had gotten more and more frustrated, until his outburst in History of Magic. Harry felt like he had been chasing Draco constantly for the past few weeks. Either to drag answers out of him, to work with him, or now, to convince him to accept his affections.

Why was he being so stubborn? Draco had said he cared about Harry, hadn’t he? So what if people didn’t like them together? Harry would be there for him. Wasn’t a relationship worth dealing with a few rude people? 

Well, not just any relationship, I guess. Harry wasn’t completely daft, he knew people could be cruel to gay couples. 

But Harry also knew what it felt like to hold Draco. To caress his cheek. He remembered the moment Draco looked at him with his sparkling eyes, eyes that Harry couldn’t get out of his head. Harry wanted to ask Draco every question in the world. Harry wanted to know what he liked, so he could give it to him. He wanted to know what Draco liked to do, so they could do it together. He wanted to irritate him, too, watch his face screw up in annoyance. Harry wanted to kiss him. He wanted to see what Draco looked like without his perfectly maintained robes. He wanted to see his eyes again, his real eyes, and know that he was the only one in the world allowed to do so. He wanted to caress him, know what it felt to unbutton his shirt…touch his chest…Harry smiled to himself.

So forget the prats who didn’t want them together! He would convince Draco they could do it. He just needed a new plan. 

***

Draco couldn’t believe Harry. What an idiot! Draco was getting ready for breakfast in his dormitory, storming about in frustration. The rest of the boys had sensed his temper and already left, leaving Draco to stew over Harry. Draco had turned him down, telling him there were too many risks involved. After all, they’d only kissed once. Did Harry accept this, move on, maybe find a girl to see? Ha! Even though Draco hated the idea of Harry with someone, it was what was best for him. 

But the magnificent Potter did whatever he fancied. Sending flowers, writing notes, every stupid romantic cliché in the world. Draco was this close to smacking some sense into him. But of course, if he got that close Harry would probably kiss him again. And that would be…bad. Right, bad. Draco sighed, fighting the urge to crawl back under the covers and never come out. Quel gâchis. Draco wished he’d never gotten this ball rolling, never put the idea in Harry’s head. 

Draco was the reason Harry suddenly wanted to kiss boys, right? He had to be. Harry wasn’t…like that. Could his…condition, be passed through touch, like a sickness? Was it random? Was Draco always going to be like this, no matter what? Maybe he had been cursed. Maybe another spell, or a potion could make him like everyone else, make these feelings go away. Draco always turned to his father when he needed advice, or his mother if he was upset. But that was beyond foolish, in this case. He really wanted to go talk with Harry about it, but that stupid boy was the reason he needed help. Naturally.

He ran a comb furiously through his hair, grabbing his bag and storming off to breakfast. On the way down he was distracted from his fuming by a loud crash. Draco looked over to see Granger, she had dropped one of her endless piles of papers. She was presumably also going down to the Great Hall, tucking her papers back in her bag. 

Draco raised an eyebrow, hmm. If he played this right he might get what he needed to know.

“Granger!” Hermione turned, visibly startled at Draco’s call.

“What do you want?” She huffed, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I heard the most terrible rumor,” He started, giving her a signature sly look. 

“Dare I ask?” She huffed, glaring at him. 

“I heard that you’re carrying a candle for yours truly,” he smirked at her face which was twisting in disgust.

“The day I fall for you is the day I build a treehouse in the Whomping Willow,” She hissed furiously. 

“Well I need to know how to get rid of your little crush,” He continued. “-It’s not as if I would ever date someone like you.”

“That’s not how things work,” She rolled her eyes, apparently irritated by his stupidity. “Magic can’t get rid of feelings. It can imitate emotion, maybe. Thankfully, I find you abhorrent,” She growled.

By now they had reached the Great Hall. Granger stalked over toward the Gryffindor table where Harry and Weasley were waiting. Draco hadn’t meant to follow her the whole way, but he would look idiotic if he turned now.

“What are you doing over here?” Harry asked as they approached. “Did you come to see me?” His eyes lit up at the thought.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Potter,” Draco snapped, spinning on his heel and stalking over to the Slytherin table. 

So much for looking idiotic, he sighed.